


The Witches of Darkmoore

by Avrina



Series: Tales from the Eastern Kingdoms [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Castration, Complete, Dark Magic, Dragons, F/M, Family, Forced Masturbation, Friendship, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Pain, Political Marriage, Princes & Princesses, Rituals, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Sisters, Witches, forced circumcision
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2020-12-22 17:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 123,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avrina/pseuds/Avrina
Summary: The task is simple: travel through the kingdoms and come back only when you have found a bride.But after four years Prince Sam is quite frustrated and dares to go to Darkmoore- and ends up in the dungeon. Indeed, Princess Romy intends to use him for some ritual, but what the captives of Romy's sister Ellie are telling, doesn't give Sam much hope...





	1. Rescuing princesses is a rather ungrateful job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AntagonizedPenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntagonizedPenguin/gifts).

> Penguin- this is my homage to you. I doubt I will ever reach your level of writing skills, but you higly inspired me!  
Thank you so much for giving me (so many of us readers) so many hours of delighted reading.

Sam reached the last step of the tower and tried to wheeze as quietly as possible. What did evil wizards find in these silly-high towers? The door to the room on the last floor was slightly recessed and concealed by a high shelf from which scrolls were swooping - a good cover for Sam, who now carefully peered through the scrolls and discovered two guards leaning next to the blackwood door, looking bored. Behind Sam his squire Isaac reached the top of the tower and sounded as if steam was coming out of his ears.   
"Chhhhh... what are they all thinking?" His panting was almost so silent that even Sam almost didn't hear him.   
"Maybe a levitation spell for one's own person is part of the exam that allows a wizard to build his own tower," Sam suspected whisperingly. Nicholas Nightraven wasn't the first wizard they took care of (and probably not the last) and so Sam had already had time to think about this question.   
"Ready?" he asked and took a look over his shoulder at his sweaty squire.   
"Whenever you are," was the simple answer.

But instead of rushing forward with his sword drawn and possibly shouting out a silly war cry, Sam strolled comfortably around the corner of the shelf, as if behind him there wasn't a sheer endless staircase, but a simple corridor.   
"Good evening, gentlemen."   
The guards flinched and each put one hand on the pommel of the sword.   
"Would you be so kind as to open the door for me?"   
Both guards frowned. "Access forbidden. Your Lordship is busy," grunted the taller of the two.   
"Yes, I know." Sam nodded and smiled; through the door you could hear the heavy gong of a large grandfather clock.   
One.   
"Nevertheless, please open the door for me, will you?"   
"No. Access forbidden."   
Two.   
The two shook their heads.   
"Please. Please?"   
"No. No access."   
Three.   
"All right." Sam drew his sword. The guards may have understood their mission, but just like all the others who had served in and around the tower, they were neither excessively bright nor particularly good. The smaller of the two sank gurgling to the ground to fit the fourth gong with his throat slit, while the larger just scratched his sword out of its sheath - apparently he didn't do that too often.   
Five.   
They crossed the weapons exactly three times (six) before Sam sank his into the guard's chest.   
Seven.   
One more reason why he couldn't get anything out of leather armour and preferred to struggle with his plate armour. He put his hand on the doorknob (eight) and turned it very slowly before gently pressing against the door. It was open and with a quick look over his shoulder he nodded to Isaac.   
Nine.   
Slowly time was running short.   
Sam pushed open the door, which unexpectedly crashed against a wall, and took two hasty steps into the tower room. Next to a cheerfully crackling fireplace stood a kind of altar table on which Princess Anne of Owlgrove was chained naked. Before it, his hands raised dramatically, the wizard Nighttraven stood reading from a thick book his magic formulas, illuminated by a lantern on a rusty chain. Or at least he had intended to read it, because when Sam appeared he broke off in the middle of the word and turned around halfway.   
"Can't you sacrifice a virgin in peace anymore?" he grumbled.   
Ten.   
The princess whimpered while Sam denied it.   
"Sorry, no." He hurried towards Nightraven, who twitched his little finger and triggered a ring which shot a fireball.   
Eleven.   
After all, he was careful enough to take precautions in case his guards failed. Not all wizards were that far-sighted, and that fact alone had saved Sam's life when he first met one. Sam fended off the fireball with his sword, the stench of burnt blood filled the room, a second magical blow hissed clumsily past Sam's hip and then he drilled the sword into the wizard's chest.   
Twelve.   
"That was a close one," Sam remarked lightly, although he had designed it precisely for the drama's sake. He and Isaac had already reached the tower in the late afternoon, but a rescue at sunset was more romantic than dramatic, and drama brought to 99% more sympathy points from the rescued lady.   
Said lady whimpered again on the table and Sam put on a soothing smile as he turned to her.   
"Princess Anne." He dropped his sword and pulled his cape from his back to spread it over the naked princess, then carefully pulled the gag out of her mouth.   
"Thank you," she breathed suffocated.   
"No problem, Milady." He bowed as best he could with the rigid breastplate. "My squire immediately loosens your shackles. Isaac?"   
"On the way, Your Highness." Isaac had leaned the small axe he had taken with him in case they had to break open the door against the door frame and now fumbled a set of lockpicks out of a small bag.   
"Did Nightraven do something to you? Besides the obvious," Sam wanted to know carefully and tried to look Anne in the face and not to stare at her breasts covered by the cape, which clearly told him she was freezing despite the blazing fire.   
"No," she whispered and then cleared her throat. "No, he was surprisingly friendly."   
"Good." Sam nodded to her and stepped aside as Isaac came around the table to free her second wrist.   
"My father will surely reward you, noble knight," Anne then said, so as not to let any embarrassed silence come up and Sam felt his smile become a little stiff.   
"Knowing that you can return home healthy is already enough." He hated to have to say such things out of sheer courtesy, but it was expected of him, even if it wasn't exactly serving his cause.   
"A true knight." Anne blushed with joy and Sam simply nodded.   
"Prince Samson of Whitehill," he introduced himself and Anne blushed even deeper. Apparently she had already heard about him.   
"Ooooh..." she whispered promptly, "a true hero!"   
Isaac snorted and dropped the second foot cuff clinking. "Here you are, Milady, you are free."   
"Thank you very much." She pressed Sam's cape to herself and straightened up, then she gave Isaac a bright smile. He blushed a little and turned his eyes away as she slipped off the table, presenting him her presumably pretty backside.   
"Thank you, Prince Samson," Anne said, looking almost pining up at Sam and then stretching out to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek.   
"You're welcome," he replied with a smile.   
Why, why, _why_ did it always have to be just a chaste kiss on the cheek?   
Why did these princesses and noble ladies only pine instead of telling their fathers clearly "I would like to have him as a husband"?   
And why did none of these fathers come up with the idea that a crown prince was an excellent match?   
Swallowing his frustration, he pulled the heavy curtain from the curtain rod with a jerk and put it around Anne's shoulders, who smiled again gratefully at him.

~

"How long have we been doing this now?" Sam asked tiredly and stared at the foam on his beer.   
"Four years."   
"How many damsels in distress have we saved?"   
"At one hundred I stopped counting."   
Sam sighed frustrated and rubbed his eyes.   
_"Each of our ancestors went out to find his bride by himself, son. You will make no exception."_   
The words of his father, King Gerald of Whitehill, still sounded in his ears. During this search, the prince was forbidden to return home and Sam slowly began to feel that his father would soon start preparing his younger brother for the throne - just in case, although Sam wrote home regularly and certainly almost every happy and grateful father also sent a message to the king. Probably Gerald had even forged some new alliances out of it.   
"Sam?" Isaac had become in the meantime more of a friend than a squire.   
"Hmm?"   
"How long do you want to continue this?" Isaac also sounded tired, maybe even worried. Of course, Anne's father had given them a magnificent sum, but not his daughter's hand.   
"I don't know." Sam shrugged and took a sip of beer. It wasn't as dark as he liked it, but surprisingly good for the expectations he had after seeing the inn.   
"Hmm," Isaac now made and sipped his own beer.   
"My Great-Uncle has renounced the throne after ten years of unsuccessful bridal search. Since his brother, my grandfather, was already married and father, he got around this nice adventure," Sam said with a sigh.   
"Ten years?" Isaac asked skeptically and Sam grumbled in agreement.   
"But Great-Uncle Arthur wasn't too keen on a bride either..." Instead, he had retreated to a country estate with a whole series of lovers.

"I hear you specialize in rescuing young ladies?" Unasked, a young man dropped down on the chair opposite Sam. He wore his left arm bandaged in a noose and his face looked as if it had only recently been badly beaten up.   
"More or less. Why?" Sam replied slowly and cautiously. Although all the insignia and the like that could reveal who he was were well hidden in his luggage, a little caution couldn't hurt.   
"There are bandits on the way." The man sniffed and made a face, apparently his nose wasn't that bulbous by nature. "Here in the border area. Kidnapped and killed the daughter of a lord two weeks ago when he didn't pay fast enough." He sniffed again, made some disgusting noises and then spat bloody snot and slime on Isaac's empty plate.   
"Urgh," Isaac made into his beer and Sam frowned discontentedly.   
"And?"   
"They say Princess Romy was kidnapped."   
"Romy?" Irritated, Sam raised a brow and lowered his beer mug again. He thought he knew pretty much every princess, at least by name, but this was new to him. The man grinned crooked and exposed a nice gap in his teeth.   
"Princess Romy Blackwood of Darkmoore."   
"Ah," Sam made. Well, Darkmoore was a matter of its own.   
"But they still argue about whether it was the bandits or the dragon."   
"Not again," Isaac sighed, but Sam silenced him with a wave of his hand.   
"Bandits or a dragon, ah, yeah. Didn't you say the bandits demanded a ransom?"   
"They did, from the lord." The man nodded. "But the princess has disappeared and no one knows anything for sure." He sniffed again. "And at the moment only these mangy bandits or the dragon come to mind."   
"Ah, yeah..." Sam made again. "Thanks for the information, my friend."   
The man nodded and grinned crookedly. "Would take care of it myself, but well..."   
Sam nodded wordlessly and kept his thoughts for himself, but then waved in the waitress and offered the guy a beer.

"Bandits? Not a problem. Dragons? Okay. But Darkmoore? Please, Sam, tell me you're not so desperate to go to Darkmoore." Isaac began to moan as soon as the door behind him had closed.   
"Darkmoore is a kingdom like any other," Sam gave back and began to change for the night.   
"No, it's not," Isaac contradicted. When Sam looked up, Isaac stood there with his arms crossed and seemed unable to decide whether he should be angry or anxious.   
"Darkmoore is matriarchal, okay, but-"   
"Those are witches, Sam!"   
"You don't know for sure."   
"Because Darkmoore seals itself off."   
"Darkmoore _was_ sealed off when the swamp fever raged for the last time."   
"And since then, no queen has officially asked to be reinstated on the King's Council."   
"Since when are you so historically educated, Isaac?"   
"The point is that every child knows that the Queen of Darkmoore is a witch. And her daughters, too, most likely."   
"Those are rumors."   
"And rumors have a true core."   
"Yes, Darkmoore has a queen."   
Isaac growled, resignedly threw his hands into the air and turned away.   
Sam sighed and went to bed.   
Maybe he wasn't desperate yet, but he was frustrated. He missed his family and home, had missed the weddings of his two sisters and was getting sick and tired of the eternal wandering through the countryside. And besides the general frustration he was also sexually frustrated. As a prince, he had been trained as a knight, with all the associated virtues, which to the level that virginity was recommented not only for young women, but also for young men, put one on top. He had been looking forward to leaving the capital, but the disillusionment followed quickly. Young knights were coquetted and flirted with, they were pined on - but nothing more. Well, and for whores he was too much ashamed.

Sam sighed and got a grumpy growl in response as Isaac made himself comfortable on his squire bed.   
"We're going to Darkmoore."   
"I really hope for your sake that it _really_ is a dragon and that it's worth it," Isaac grumbled.   
"Have you ever thought about a _real_ witch being able to defend herself against bandits and dragons?"   
Isaac just snorted.


	2. Finding a kidnapped princess seems easier than it is

Isaac moaned all the time. Sometimes he complained like a little child, sometimes he scolded, but Sam faded him out quite successfully.  
"Sam!"  
"Hmm?"  
"You're not listening to me at all," Isaac finally complained offended.  
"Why so? You've been repeating yourself again and again for four days." Sam gave him a quick glance and shrugged apologetically, but Isaac's face continued to darken. He pouted for a few minutes, then he asked:  
"Shouldn't we have reached the border by now?"  
Sam couldn't suppress a smile. "We already crossed it yesterday afternoon."  
"What?" Isaac sounded amazed.  
"Oh come on. Did you expect everything on the other side of this imaginary line to suddenly be a few nuances darker and suddenly glowing mushrooms grow everywhere while spiderwebs hang from the trees?"  
Isaac's face clearly answered _yes_ to that question.  
"Your father would be disappointed by so much superstition," Sam mocked gently and Isaac snorted.  
"My father would be disappointed if I didn't come home with a bride too."  
"If I find one myself at some point, we'll get it done."  
"As long as you don't want to foist a witch on me..."  
"Isaac..."  
"Yeah, yeah..."  
Isaac's father had been a simple mercenary who had earned the friendship and patronage of three knights, so that he could take part in their trials without any knight training. After his accolade he married the daughter of a knight (_after_ having impregnated her) and opened the doors to knighthood for his son. He didn't like to be too precise about knightly virtues, but he had ambitious plans for his eldest son.

They rode through a sheer endless deciduous forest, surrounded by birdsong and greeted by spring flowers along the way. Then in the late afternoon the forest ended almost abruptly and the path forked. On the right there was a slightly undulating plain, speckled with small groups of trees and bushes; on the left the forest stretched along the path and swallowed it up again quite a bit further.  
"And now?", Isaac wanted to know. Sam sniffed thoughtfully and examined the plain in front of him. The dark green grass was repeatedly broken through by thorny blackberry bushes, to which the signpost had fallen victim. It was hanging there askew and even if you could still have read the words, Sam would not have trusted it because of the imbalance. He tried to remember his geography lessons, but Darkmoore was blurred on his mental map.  
The north-east of the country was practically uninhabitable by swamps and moors, in the south the river _The Green Ray_ marked the border between Whitehill and Darkmoore and the capital Balius was about central. At the moment they moved from the northwest into the country and Sam was tempted to take the right path, also because the sun would soon set and they came a little further on the plain despite the twilight before they would set up their simple camp for the night.  
"Sam?"  
"Hmm?"  
"There's smoke."  
"Where?" Sam followed Isaac's outstretched finger and blinked a few times before he saw the thin thread of smoke rise from the forest.  
"If we're lucky, it's even more than just a woodcutter hut," Isaac said hopefully and Sam nodded. The smoke didn't seem far away, although it was pretty clearly contradictory to his idea of taking the right path.  
"Well then..." He steered Hector, his gelding, to the left, who reluctantly snorted, but yielded.

~

Sam bit his cheek and looked at the burned village. The remains of the houses did not look as if the fire had just burned down and there was no smoke. There was also nothing that would have caused such a fine column of smoke. Hector shuffled his hooves and threw his head back and forth; under Sam's reassurance he danced a little and so Sam's gaze finally fell on a small church. Apparently it had been the only stone building in the village, and although a wall and the front showed traces of fire, it seemed intact. Behind Sam and Isaac lay the forest, the other three sides of the village were surrounded by meadows that would have been pastures and fields last year.  
"So much for your woodcutter hut," Sam said quietly.  
"I said- oh, forget it." Isaac sighed.  
"We should find shelter in the church," Sam said, even quieter than before, and set Hector in motion again. Isaac followed him and it crunched under the horse's hooves; the further they crossed the village, the more it was revealed that the smoke could not have come from here.  
"After all, we have a roof over our heads tonight," Sam muttered and dismounted. Isaac took Hector's reins and then, out of courtesy, Sam knocked on the church door. It swung open with squeaky hinges and gave a clear view of a polished church interior, at the other end stood a sublime statue of the Great Mother which smiled kindly. Lifting up a brow, Sam took two steps and then bowed deeply.  
"Great Mother, we ask shelter for the night." Not that he had really expected an answer, but when he got one, he flinched in alarm.  
"Enter and bring your horses with you. The spirits of the dead are restless out here." It was the voice of a man, strong and scratchy and with a weak echo. Since Isaac made a choked sound, he had heard the voice.  
"Who or what are you?" Sam wanted to know carefully and flinched again when a silvery shining figure appeared in front of the statue.  
"I built the first shrine in this place many hundreds of years ago. You need not fear me." Slowly the spirit approached Sam and he recognized under the shimmer the figure of a man, perhaps in his early fifties, tall and strong.  
"I protect this church and all those who are there as best I can."  
"What do you ask in return?" It was Sam's first encounter with a spirit (and he was damn glad it seemed peaceful), but everything has its price and spirits were no exception.  
"Kill Antonidas."  
"Who is that?"  
"He was the apprentice of the local priestess until he betrayed the village and the Great Mother and disappeared."  
"And how long has that been now?" Isaac asked carefully from the door frame.  
"About thirty years, maybe more. Forty? No... no, not that long yet." The spirit shrugged a little helplessly. "Time has meanwhile become a somewhat vague term in my head."  
"Antonidas, okay. Can you tell us more about him?" Sam asked politely and the spirit swayed his head thoughtfully.  
"A handsome young man with a little witchcraft talent. He was on good terms with the water dragon of the hot spring here."  
That wasn't overly helpful, but Sam nodded.  
"He was born here and his mother is still calling for him, so he's still alive," the spirit continued. "Kill him for me and your debt is paid." Before Sam could even blink, wet and cold fingers touched his forehead. "I will remind you of it in your dreams, young knight."  
The spirit disappeared, but his voice echoed through the church.  
"Make yourselves comfortable..."

~

The crying and wailing of the spirits kept Sam awake while the horses restlessly scraped the stone tiles and Isaac quietly snored. The hollow shouting continued to haunt him for the next few days as they traveled on.  
They had come across the northern main road, and the inhabitants of the small villages they passed through met them carefully, but not unkindly. No one had ever heard of an Antonidas, but a dragon? Yes, one would live in the Bone Hills, a blue-grey one, they said, not much bigger than a horse. And the Bone Hills, they learned, were a chain of hills at the edge of the Red Swamp, at maximum two hours away from Balius on horseback. But nobody could imagine that this dragon had kidnapped a princess. Skeptically they were shown the way and more than once Sam heard a soft murmur whether the foreign knight might not be better off in his homeland.

Most of the hills were elongated and seemed to have collapsed, just like freshly layered mounds of earth just collaps a little. Exactly two things were conspicuous: on the hills nothing but grass grew - all trees of the area stood between the hills - and even that grass seemed to be at the same time more colorful and darker.

"I wonder where a dragon should live here," Isaac grumbled discouraged and his shoulders sank. They had tied the horses to a tree and climbed a hill from where they looked around. Sam had to admit that there wasn't much here except for hills and isolated trees, but on the other hand there was only one conclusion to be drawn.  
"How about: _in_ a hill?"  
"We're talking about a dragon, Sam, not a dwarf."  
"And as you can see, Isaac, there's nothing else here _but hills_. If the dragon isn't using the clouds as a bed, there's nothing else left for him."  
Isaac pulled a pout, Sam shielded his eyes with one hand and let his gaze wander again.  
"That one over there would be big enough," he pointed to the left, "or that one," he pointed straight out, "or- woah! Did you see that?"  
"What? Where?"  
Sam stared strained at a hill that was a distance away and slightly offset to the right. What he had initially thought to be the shadow of a tree had just moved independently and the longer he looked at the dark spot, the more it seemed to him to be tendrils or something like that.  
"I think we should take a closer look."  
"By _we_ you mean _you_? Your fully equipped and armed self, to be exact, don't you?” Dragons weren't exactly Isaac's favorite opponents, but if your armor was just chain mail and arm splints, Sam could understand that, so he nodded and tried to memorize exactly where the hill was.

~

It took nerve-wrackingly long until Sam finally wore his full armour, and then it took a little eternity again until they had found the right hill anew. But then he parted the curtain of tendrils with the tip of his sword and peered into the hill. It was one of the largest and almost shaped like a crescent moon, light shimmered around the bend. Carefully Sam entered the hill, gliding his gaze over the walls to see if there was anything hiding in the shade, and slowly moved forward. The soft humming that swelled on and off seemed to be the dragon speaking. Just a few more steps and he could understand the words...  
"Sam", Isaac whispered forcefully.  
"Sh!"  
"Sam!" Even more insistent.  
"Not now!"  
But Isaac grabbed him by the arm and pointed upwards. Isaac was afraid of bats, but bats and dragons didn't get along by nature and on top of that a horse-sized dragon would have considered the little fluttering things a snack. Sam, as well as he could with his neck guard, put his head back and blinked in confusion at the yellowish-white something that was sticking out of the earth.  
"These are bones," whispered Isaac. "These are burial mounds!" And if one considered the size, they could only be dragon graves.  
"Great mother..." Sam mumbled silently as he imagined the dragon to these bones. Such a monster could have easily turned his father's castle into pebbles. Suddenly he was quite happy that the living dragon somewhere in front of them could be compared to a horse.

He took a deep breath, licked his lips and then moved again. Irritatingly, it smelled like herbal tea and sweet fruit next to moist soil, but the thought slipped out of Sam's mind again when the dragon's almost endless monologue was interrupted by a slightly annoyed female voice:  
"That's all well and good, but I still don't see why I should help you with any of it."  
The dragon snorted, Sam whispered "Now!" and made a quick movement. The dragon, whose scales looked dirty grey in the light of a lantern (where did the dragon get a lantern and why did he even have one at all?), turned to him and tilted his head. He was taller than Hector, but this was mainly because he had a long neck and a long tail, as usual with dragons.  
"Surrender, beast," Sam said in his best command tone and threateningly raised the sword. In response, the dragon spread his wings in a threatening gesture and hissed. Sam took a step forward.  
"Surrender," he repeated, quieter, more threatening.  
"Never," the dragon rumbled and his head flashed forward. Sam slammed his shield against his chin from diagonally below and turned a little to the side to follow with the sword, but the tip just grazed the scales. In return he got a thrust with a wing, stumbled forward and just escaped a nose-buck into his back. He slit the membrane of the other wing, drove around and gave the dragon a second chin hook with the shield, his teeth clicking audibly and he hissed angrily.

Duck and dodge, turn and slam, stab and lift shield. With all the scars the dragon had, Sam had actually expected combat experience, but the movements seemed awkward and many blows were completely ineffective. With his wings he tore earth from the walls and ceiling again and again and blinded himself the most, so that Sam pushed him back bit by bit. It was one of those moments when a (good) archer would have been extremely helpful, but giving Isaac a bow was life-threatening, especially if you had him in your back.  
Sam pushed forward and stumbled two steps further over what looked like the remains of a table and chair.  
"Hey!" the woman's voice suddenly protested. Apparently they had reached the other end of the hill and pushed the woman into the corner. Promptly, the dragon turned into an angry offensive and hissed at Sam, who reached out with the sword, knocked a tooth tip off the dragon, and was delighted that this dragon could not spit fire.  
"Go away," the dragon hissed and rushed towards Sam. He ducked away under the claws, dipped under the right wing, turned his wrist and stabbed his sword into the side of the dragon. Since they were both carried by their momentum, the blade slit the dragon's flank almost to the hind leg.  
Probably a thank you to Isaac would be appropriate later, that he always worked the sword devotedly with the grinding stone.  
Roaring the dragon turned around, caught Sam with his snout and stumbled. Sam collided rudely against the wall, groaned, pushed himself off the wall and went over to the final blow. If he had caught the dragon's neck a hand's span closer to his head, he might have beheaded the dragon, but he pulled the sword out of Sam's hand as he fell. Nevertheless, the wound gaped so far apart that Sam was sprayed with arterial blood from top to bottom.  
With a muffled sound the dragon body hit the ground.

One hectic breath, then another. With the third Sam had himself under control again so far that he slowly sucked in the air and expelled it. Under the dragon a pool of blood spread and he looked down on himself disgusted.  
"What a mess," the woman pronounced his thoughts.  
"Don't worry, Milady," he began, raising his gaze - a strained smile on his face - and broke off when he noticed that she was by no means looking at him, but at the completely destroyed interior; shelves were broken, tableware lay in shards, herbs of every kind were scattered - whatever a dragon needed something like that for.  
In return, Sam's gaze glided over the young woman. Knee-high black boots, tight black trousers, a fluffy dark red shirt with a black-silver corset over it; around the slender neck lay a heavy silver chain with a thumbnail-sized glowing green stone. The pale blond hair was carelessly tucked into a bun and as she turned her face towards Sam, she wrinkled her delicate nose and the pale brows were angrily narrowed over the bright eyes.  
"What a mess." This time she definitely meant Sam, who was still internally considering whether she could really be a princess in that outfit or not, but he pushed the consideration aside.  
"My squire has practice scrubbing dragon's blood from my armour." He tried to smile again, but the young woman didn't seem impressed. Instead, she critically lifted a brow.  
"This isn't the first time you've bathed in dragon's blood?"  
"No." He shook his head. "It's unpleasant, but it's hard to avoid."  
Now she tilted her head. "How many dragons have you killed already?"  
"Five."  
"Six," Isaac was shyly heard from the background. "So a total of seven now."  
"Seven dragons...", she said thoughtfully, letting her gaze wander over Sam again and stopped at his shield. It was no longer the original shield with which he had left his father's castle, it was dented, dirty and splashed with blood, but the flower with the six triangular white petals on a light green ground was still recognizable.  
"An Appleberry from Whitehill?"  
"Prince Samson at your service, Milady." Sam hinted at a bow.  
"Romy Blackwood, Princess of Darkmoore," she said a little absent.  
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Princess," he responded, thinking to himself that his mother would have fainted at the sight of Princess Romy. A princess in trousers was a scandal - albeit a very handsome one, as he had to admit.  
She just nodded before looking around the chaos again. "What a mess..."  
"Indeed. How about we all get some fresh air?"  
With a resigned sigh she nodded and stepped with a big step over the pool of blood before marching past Sam to the exit, not paying attention to Isaac. She didn't seem to have been kidnapped, but if Sam was honest, she had nothing in common with the princesses he had already met.  
And to his discomfort, that made his self-confidence crumble drastically.


	3. Sometimes the difference between a dungeon and a slave market is not very big

Measured by the status of his bruises and cuts, Sam has been in jail for a little over a week. He had only been left his thin undershirt, pants and socks, but he couldn't remember how it happened. His last conscious memory before waking up in the tiny cell was that he left the dragon hill behind Romy, quite unchivalrously admiring her butt in her tight pants...

Sam's stomach growled. At irregular intervals he was given a tasteless broth with a few pieces of vegetables (eating and drinking in one, how inexpensive) in a bowl slipped under the door, which did not exactly contribute to his understanding of the time. The last feeding was quite a long time ago, a change of guards in any case, maybe even two. And the shifts were long down here.

The light that fell through the tiny barred window in the door changed when a guard approached with stomping steps, took a look at Sam and then turned around. No food? Well, no food then.   
Sam sighed softly. He wasn't finished yet, a guard a bit further surprised exclaimed:   
"Your Highness!"   
Sam listened attentively.   
"Where is he?" Princess Romy wanted to know.   
"Cell four, Your Highness," was the quick answer. A few moments later Romy's face covered the window, but after a critical look she almost immediately retreated.   
"Urgh, didn't you clean him up?" She wrinkled her tender nose and looked at the guards angrily while Sam snorted. Although he no longer smelled himself and the faeces bucket, it was unusual to have prisoners bathed every other day.   
"We brought him food as ordered," a guard was heard.   
"Broth is hardly food," Sam mumbled dryly. Romy interrupted a guard's protest non-verbally and sent a small ball of light to Sam - so much on the subject of witches (basically she could have been a sorceress too, but as far as the differences were concerned, Sam didn't really know anything about it and for the moment it was absolutely irrelevant).   
At his sight she wrinkled her nose again. "Prepare a bath for him."   
"Very well, Your Highness!"   
"And- no, I'll take care of it myself."   
"Very well, Your Highness," the guards repeated bluntly.

~

A little eternity later, two pinched looking guards brought Sam one floor up. It looked exactly like the other one, but obviously had a different function, because the second door on the right side led into a room which was probably five times the size of the small cell. It also had a blazing fireplace and a worn wooden bathtub, next to which stood a disgruntled man in the livery of a servant who could easily have been Sam's grandfather. He also wrinkled his nose when Sam entered, but then nodded to the guards, who left and locked the door behind them.   
"Take off your clothes and get into the water, boy. The princess isn't very patient," the man said in a surprisingly powerful voice, to which Sam instinctively wanted to obey. So he undressed in a hurry, simply dropping his clothes, and then put one leg energetically into the water.   
"Ngh!" He had to bite his tongue when the ice-cold water sent a kind of pain up to his belly button. It shook him and he had to take two deep breaths before he could manage to lift his second leg into the tub. Trembling, he stood in the knee-deep water and made a face.   
Throwing yourself into a cool lake or river on a hot summer's day was somehow different from being forced to bathe in a cold dungeon.   
"Sit down!"   
Sam bit his lower lip and began to sit down in slow motion.   
A mistake.   
The old servant pushed him from behind surprisingly hard on the shoulders down and screeching like a girl Sam fell on his butt. The water was like a shock and all the air left his lungs. But then he flinched back with a gasp as the servant held something under his nose that smelled intensely like rosemary.   
"Wash yourself. Thoroughly." The man waved something in front of Sam's face and he grabbed it, for it could hardly be anything other than soap. The piece was unwieldy and had disgusting brown spots, but when he drove his thumb over it, he realized it was probably just pieces of rosemary.

Shivering and with increasingly numb fingers, he soaped himself, while the servant leisurely collected Sam's things and then threw them into the fireplace.   
"Face and hair."   
Sam made a consensual sound and did as he was told. Leaning his head back so far that he could rinse his hair in the soapy water was a real effort, but the servant nodded to him and held out a bowl into which Sam dropped the soap. The bowl got a place on the mantelpiece and then the man bent down.   
"Close your eyes."   
Sam blinked irritated, but when he saw the bucket, he did what he was told. Compared to the bath water, the water poured over his head was warm.   
"Stand up."   
Sam wiped the water out of his eyes and stood up wavering. A small surge of water poured down his back.   
"Turn around."   
A second surge across his chest.   
"Get out."   
Carefully Sam got out of the tub. He was too far away from the fireplace for the fire to have heated the floor, and an unpleasant tingling sensation spread through his feet. Then he sighed with relief as the servant put a large, surprisingly soft and above all _warm_ towel around his shoulders. He caught his almost pitiful gaze and after a moment he began to dry off.

Sam wasn't sure if he was allowed to move, so he stood there trembling, just waiting, after the servant had taken the towel from him. The air was warm enough to dry his hair, but frozen as he was, it didn't make much of a difference.   
When the key was turned in the lock, he straightened his shoulders and then hastily held his hands in front of his privates as Romy entered. She nodded to the servant.   
"Thank you, Jonas." Jonas bowed and left the room, while Romy created a ball of light whose bright light made Sam blink blinded.   
"Hmpf," Romy made critical and Sam blushed under her scrutinizing gaze. The last time he had faced a woman naked was a while ago. Eighteen years, to be precise, and at that time his nanny had put him in the bathtub before she tearfully said goodbye to him because he was now a big boy and was to begin his education.

With burning cheeks he let the examination pass over him, but then Romy came a few steps closer until she stood in front of him, not an arm's length away. Her perfume, which smelled of vanilla and winter spices, crept into his nose and the thought of a warm tartlet made his stomach growl. Romy passed over the sound simply by declaring disapprovingly:   
"You're quite hairy."   
The tartlet vision burst.   
"I beg your pardon?" Irritated, Sam first looked down at himself, then back to Romy. If one disregarded his full honey blonde hair and the slightly darker beard, his body hair was sparse at best, which regularly caused good-natured mockery among the other knights. One of the king's guards had once told a story that there was a tribe in the mountains who used a man's body hair to determine the maximum rank and status he could achieve - and so Sam wouldn't even have become a squire.   
"You haven't seen many naked men, have you?" he asked doubtingly.   
"No," she admitted forthright and plucked at a chest hair, whereupon Sam would have preferred to take a step back. "But this is unaesthetic and obstructive."   
"I really don't mind shaving my face every day"- he really didn't, he wasn't a friend of beard - "but the rest can-"   
"I'll take care of it." The way she said it, Sam certainly didn't want her to, but he swallowed his protest as a precaution. She took a step back and let her eyes wander down until it got stuck where Sam definitely didn't want it to under given circumstances.   
"Take off your hands."   
His cheeks became uncomfortably warm again. "Everything's where it belongs to," he replied as dignifiedly as possible.   
"So you are not circumcised?"   
"It's... it's not common in Whitehill." In the coastal regions circumcision was a celebrated tradition, but the coast was far away.   
"We'll have to change that."   
_"What?"_ Suddenly his voice was just a cheep. Protectively, he pressed his hands around his privates and took a step back.   
"Are you functional?"   
He blinked irritated and pulled up a brow. "I'm a knight and I have-"   
"I mean that one," she interrupted him and pointed to his crotch.   
"Oh. Uh..." How was he supposed to answer that question? "I think...?"   
"Have you already fathered a child, yes or no?"   
"No."   
"Are you still a virgin?"   
"... yes."   
"All the better." She nodded contentedly and Sam felt like goods at the weekly market.   
_Male virgin for a special price - buy today and sacrifice tomorrow!_   
He thought briefly of Anne and Nightraven, but Romy took another step back and pulled a small knife out of her belt. Sam retreated and bumped against the bathtub, praying fervently that Romy would not free him from his foreskin directly, immediately and on the spot. Instead, she loosened a clip on her bun so that her hair fell over her back. With the knife she cut off a strand in her neck, put the knife away and then twirled the strand into a kind of ribbon, humming softly. The cut hair began to glow golden and she stepped towards him. Involuntarily, he held his breath as she tied the strand around his neck and then placed the flat hand on his chest, right over his heart.

Nothing happened, so Sam started breathing again.   
They stood there for a while and he noticed that Romy could look him in the eyes effortlessly- she was wearing heelless shoes and was still almost as tall as him and Sam wasn't small.   
She blinked.   
He suddenly felt his heartbeat all too clearly.   
Her eyes were of a cold grey and shimmered like polished steel.   
A fine pulsation emanated from her hand.   
There were two golden dots in her right eye, but not in her left.   
The pulsation slowed down until it had adapted to the rhythm of Sam's heart.   
His gaze was pinned to hers, but suddenly he wished he could close his eyes and just enjoy the soothing pulsation on his chest.   
"Samson Alexander Frederick Appleberry, Crown Prince of Whitehill, I choose you to be the one," Romy said quietly and the way she pronounced his name gave Sam goose bumps. She pulled her hand back and shook it.   
"You're strong."   
"Thank you...?"   
She wrinkled her nose. "We are equals, so you can call me Romy. In the presence of guards or my family _Princess Romy_ or _Highness_."   
He nodded carefully. Was he now a kind of slave? Magically bound to her or something like that?   
She went to the door, opened it and then nodded over her shoulder to Sam before she left. Jonas came in with a bundle of clothes in his hand, followed by a bellboy carrying a tray with a plate of sandwich and a large cup on it.   
Sam's stomach demanded food, but he found he preferred to scratch his dignity back together and dress before attacking a simple sandwich naked like a starving savage.


	4. Living directly at your workplace saves you a lot of walking

Romy's living room-dining room-study combination was larger than the corresponding room in Sam's apartment, much larger. Romy herself rose from the dining table as Jonas shoved Sam through the door and wiped a few crumbs off her vest.   
"Thank you, Jonas."   
Jonas bowed silently and left, while Sam felt very uncomfortable in the middle of the magnificent room in his extremely simple clothes. Again he was examined by Romy, this time in daylight, which almost lavishly fell through the high windows and made her hair shimmer.   
"How do you feel?" she wanted to know with her head crooked.   
"I'm still hungry", he simply replied and indicated a shrug. The endless long way from the dungeon up here had at least warmed him up.   
"I thought so." She took a cookie from a plate next to her empty one and handed it to Sam.   
"Thank you," he said a little surprised and she nodded a little.   
"Eat. I don't want you to crumble all over my lab." Suddenly the cookie tasted like cardboard, but he ate it up obediently, then wiped his mouth corners and after the fingers off his trousers. Romy nodded again and then told him to follow her.

The laboratory was right on the other side of a simple door and corresponded to every clichéd idea: shelves full of pots, pans and glasses, work tables full of strange utensils, a kettle next to the half-open fireplace, half-curtained windows with heavy curtains, a completely overloaded desk, shelves full of books, a large pentagram carved into the floor - Isaac would have had his superstitious pleasure in it.   
The thought of Isaac reached his mouth, but when he opened it, he discovered a bed with blankets and pillows on one wall and, irritated, he closed his mouth again. Was Romy such a devoted witch? She had stepped at the desk and flipped through some papers and looked up as Sam turned to her.   
"What did you do with Isaac?"   
"Hand him over to the guards."   
Hissing, Sam took a breath, but she continued:   
"The commander is very pleased with him."   
"I want to see him."   
"No."   
"He is my squire and not yet of age! As his knight I am responsible for him", he snarled at her and she pointed her lips.   
"You can take a look at his training tomorrow, if you like, nothing more."   
Sam gritted his teeth and growled quietly. "I want to make sure he's okay."   
"If you both behave well, you can talk to him."   
"When?"   
She took a look at something on the wall that seemed to be a calendar and her nose twitched. "In about a month."   
"That is-"   
"Enough!" she said sharply and Sam flinched. "Take off your shoes, put them there, and then step into the pentagram."   
"What are you going to do?" he asked without moving. She reached for a bag on the desk and pulled out a wide metal bracelet.   
"Tie you up," she said coolly and Sam took a step back.   
"Am I your prisoner?"   
"I don't like the word," she explained after a moment of reflection. "It's so negative." She shook her head and pulled three more of the metal rings out of the bag.   
"These shackles will bind you to the castle, but they will also protect you from foreign magic once I activate them."   
"What are you going to do with me?" he wanted to know, a troubled tone crept into his voice. "And if I am not your prisoner, what else?"   
"Shoes," she simply said, "Pentagram."   
They stared at each other for a moment, but as she had more pull, he gave in.   
"Yes, Romy." He almost sighed and saw out of the corner of his eye how she frowned.   
"I don't like the tone. You sound as if you were talking to your mother."   
That made him smile while her frown deepened. He put the thin shoes to the side and then stepped on socks into the pentagram.   
"And now?"   
She took one of the metal rings and stroked it, whereupon it opened. "For the ankles," she said and handed the ring to Sam, who denied himself any further comment and put the thing around his ankle, where it merged seamlessly. They repeated the whole thing for the second ankle and for the wrists, then Romy nodded barely and stepped to a work table where for a moment she turned her back to Sam. When she faced him again, she held a smoking little bowl in her hand, which she handed to him.   
"Try to not inhale too much of it. It doesn't do you good."   
"Okay..."   
"Now shut up."   
Angrily he pressed his lips together and watched her go on. She lit large white candles, which she placed at the corners of the pentagram, humming quietly, then took a thick book and began to read out of it.

~

The smoke from the bowl burned Sam in the eyes, the shackles became alternately unpleasantly hot and cold, his legs hurt from the long motionless standing and he had to pee urgently. Romy's now hoarse voice had lulled him a little and so he startled as she raised the voice. Suddenly dark green tendrils stretched between the silver shackles and Sam almost dropped the bowl in fright. The next time he blinked, they had already disappeared and with a sigh Romy closed the book. Sam didn't move as she rubbed her eyes and when she looked at him afterwards she seemed tired.   
"Just put the bowl over there." She made a vague gesture towards the work tables. "You can put your shoes back on if you want."   
He wanted to, because the floor was cold, but first he put the bowl away and found that the candles on the pentagram were all gone.   
"Um, Romy..."   
"Hmm?" She had stepped on a shelf and reached for a can.   
"I really need to pee." Strangely enough, the words drove a flush of shame into his face.   
"Pull the chain."   
"Excuse me?"   
She nodded past him and as he turned around, he discovered a black metal chain hanging out of the wall. Hesitantly he stepped towards it and pulled - the shelf next to it slipped to the side and released a niche.   
"Your very own personal privy," Romy said absent and Sam grimaced. Nevertheless, he entered the niche - which was even provided with a loophole - and swallowed. From where Romy now stood at a work table, she had a great view of him. Suddenly his urgent need disappeared, but at that very moment the shelf slipped back to its place.

Unburdened, Sam stepped next to Romy, who distributed a yellowish liquid from a measuring cup onto seven small test tubes in a rack. He kept his curiosity under control and simply watched as she first added one drop each from a tiny bottle, then two drops each from another, with the liquid turning from pale green to dark green from left to right.   
"Hmm," Romy contentedly made and took a look at a small clock ticking quietly, then leaned against the table, crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked at Sam thoughtfully. The longer she looked at him, the more uncomfortable he felt.  
"I don't want to hurt you," she finally said.   
"But you will do," he noticed uneasily and she nodded.   
"Yes. But the wounds I will inflict on you during the rituals I will heal as well as I can afterwards. That doesn't work for all of them, but for most."   
Slowly he nodded and was almost a little grateful to her for it, but on the other hand he had no idea what those wounds would be.   
"Fine," she said and took a small jar from the table. "Hair."   
"I like my hair, you know?"   
"Oh, I don't touch the one on your head. Take off the shirt."   
"Do I have to?"   
She looked at him angrily.   
"If you don't want to pluck them all out one by one - and every few days - then yes."   
He took off his shirt, making a face. Romy dipped a finger into the jar and with the oily liquid on it drew a line around Sam's neck. With a new portion, she drew rays from it onto his shoulders and then on both his chest and back. She gave a magical order and Sam's body began to tingle from the neck down; it was a little uncomfortable, but quickly stopped.   
"That's it," she said and made a wagging gesture, whereupon a brush and dustpan floated from one corner.   
"Is the hair growing back?" Sam wanted to know and looked at the floating objects suspiciously.   
"Please shake off the loose hair. I don't know, I think so."   
With a suppressed sigh he wiped his chest and arms and shook his trousers; his skin felt abnormal, much too smooth and more like a statue than a real person. The hand-brush quietly swept his hair from the floor around him, rustling.   
"As for the chaos in your face, Jonas will take care of it in the mornings," she continued.   
"I can shave myself."   
For a moment they looked at each other.   
"Under supervision," she agreed and he nodded. It was only a small compromise, but if she showed herself ready for such, hopefully he was not completely at her mercy.   
"All right, next point." She grabbed a small wooden box from a shelf and took out a slender stiletto, perhaps as long as Sam's hand, with which she cut her hand and smeared the blood on the blade.   
"If you disobey my orders, defy me, or try to leave the areas accessible to you, this blade will inform you of your mistake."   
He frowned but she stepped behind him and grabbed his shoulder with a firm grip before drawing the tip of the blade horizontally across his skin just below his hairline. The line was at most as long as his little finger, but it burned bestially and he hissed. Then she pressed the stiletto flat between his shoulder blades and when she started muttering a magic formula, he felt like the stiletto was sinking into his skin. It was a disgusting feeling and when she finally let him go it shook him.   
"The cuts work their way down till here if you intend to play the rebel," she said, gently typing directly over his tailbone.   
"And after?" he asked carefully and half turned around. When she looked at him, he didn't even want to know the answer anymore.   
"I don't know. But the witch who invented this spell was known for her cruelty."   
"I'm no rebel anyway..." he mumbled uneasily and she nodded.   
"All the better." Then Romy left him standing and crossed the lab to a shelf where she triggered a mechanism. It swung to the side and she took a step back before gesticulating. A moment later, a sturdy wooden table, whose tabletop already looked a little worn, tripped in and positioned itself in the pentagram. She closed the secret door and nodded to Sam.   
"Lie down on your stomach. I want to check how strong you are."   
Doubtfully he looked at her, but since he had just claimed not to be a rebel, he obeyed. Somehow he had the quiet hope that she would warn him if it hurt.   
"Could you explain to me what you are doing? At least a little?" he asked and twisted his neck to look at her; she stepped up to him with the test tube rack.   
"The color gradient indicates the increasing intensity of the solution. There are a total of ten steps, but I assume you don't get any further than the fourth."   
"Earlier you said I was strong," he remarked.   
"Head down. Yes, you are. And the dragon blood has joined your natural strength and training. But we will have to work on your magical strength."   
"Magical- uh!" He flinched as she dripped the cold fluid onto his left shoulder blade.   
"Let me know if it gets unpleasant or hurts."   
"Okay..."   
She dripped a second portion onto the right shoulder blade and when he didn't react any further, she wiped the liquid off with a cloth. Again liquid dripped onto the left, then the right shoulder blade, but this time it was tingling unpleasantly.   
"Mmh." he made and frowned. "Unpleasant."   
"Does it hurt?"   
"No."   
She wiped off his skin and dripped the fifth liquid onto the left side.   
"This is really nasty now," he remarked and grimaced as a single drop ran down his ribs and left a burning mark.   
"Hmm," she made and put a single drop on the right side. He gave an unwilling growl.   
"Good," she said quietly. "Very good."   
He turned his head. The joyous surprise on her face that he had not only reached level four patted his ego. To his own surprise, however, she flicked, whereupon a bowl of water and a cloth floated towards her- and she washed his back. That was by no means what he had expected.

When she was done, she maneuvered all sorts of tools back to their places with wagging hands, put her hands on her hips, and then looked at Sam critically.   
"You positively surprised me."   
"Always pleased to be at your service, Milady," he replied with a touch of mockery and indicated a bow. Romy rolled her eyes.   
"This is the lab. This is where we will spend most of our time initially." She still hadn't told him what she wanted from him, but he was polite enough not to interrupt her. Pointing to the bed, she said:   
"You'll sleep there unless you want to stay in the dungeon."   
He shook his head silently.   
"You can read the books on the shelf there in your spare time, there are reference books if you don't understand something." She pointed to two different shelves and he nodded again, then he followed her back to the main room.   
"We'll eat here and you can use the desk for your studies if you want."   
Without paying attention to his nod, she crossed the room and put a hand on a door.   
"This," she said and her voice suddenly became audibly cool, "is my bedroom. You will only enter if I ask you to, or if you use the large bathroom." She pushed the door open and Sam hurriedly followed her long steps, as a courtesy he stared at her neck. Behind the bedroom was a dressing room, but to the left another door led directly into a large bathroom.   
"Here you will wash yourself thoroughly morning and evening. The towels there are for you."   
A muffled gong sounded from the main room while he nodded.   
"Ah, dinner."

~

They kept silent while spooning a thick vegetable soup. The additional bread was soft inside and crispy outside, and Sam sighed contentedly as he pushed the empty plate away. To test the freedom he was given, he nodded to Romy as she put the spoon aside and went over to the lab. From the shelf she had shown him, he pulled out the first book and made himself comfortable on his new bed for a test (he had already had more comfortable beds, but also much worse and admittedly everything was better than the dungeon or bare earth). It was a book on basic anatomy and physiology of which Sam only had a superficial idea, admittedly, but he was also a prince and not a doctor. However, he was much too tense and confused by the events and developments of the day to concentrate on the text, but to think about the said happenings did not help him except for a headache.   
Romy's entry a little later he deliberately ignored. A quill scratched paper softly for quite a while, and Sam felt his eyes closing in spite of the chaos in his head.


	5. Witch magic is an unpleasant thing - especially for men

Sam was awakened by Jonas, who led him into the big bathroom and explained to him in a nutshell where he found the shaving equipment. When Sam foamed up the soap, he curiously asked:   
"Are you Romy's personal servant?"   
"Something like that," Jonas replied and bowed his head.   
"Meaning?"   
"I'm tied to her and the castle, albeit in a different and much stronger way than you."   
Sam spread the foam of soap on his cheeks, chin and neck and gave Jonas a look over the small mirror, but he cleaned up the bathroom - apparently Romy was already finished with her morning toilet - and then stood inconspicuously next to Sam when he put on the razor. Carefully he pulled the sharp blade over his skin, from bottom to top, rinsed the blade and continued.

When he was almost finished, he looked out of the corner of his eye as Jonas stepped to the small hand pump and filled a large bowl with water before he put his hands to the edge and stared concentrated at the water.   
"Are you a witcher?" Sam asked in surprise.   
"No." Jonas straightened up and moved the collar of his livery a bit to the side, so that Sam could see a kind of necklace with three embedded rubies. "The stones are charged with magic. I can use them to serve Romy."   
"Oh," Sam made. "Practical."   
Jonas nodded barely. "And now hurry up a little. The boys are coming with breakfast and I don't like to leave them standing outside. And Romy doesn't like having to wait for her breakfast."   
"Why should they stand outside?" Sam frowned.   
"Because no man except me is allowed to enter Romy's quarters."   
Now Sam raised a brow and paused. Turning to Jonas, he asked: "Am I not a man?"   
"You are more man than me." With these words Jonas stroked the front of his trousers - it was conspicuously flat. "But for you, it's different."   
"They... they castrated you?" Sam's voice became a little shrill.   
"Not completely. The testicles are too important to keep a man healthy."   
A squeak slipped out of Sam. Maybe he should be happy that Romy just wanted to cut off his foreskin. The thought, however, made him sick and Jonas took the razor out of his trembling fingers.   
"Romy isn't cruel," he said gently and turned Sam's face to finish his shave. "She only does what is necessary."   
"Oh yeah?"   
"Hmm. But you should be careful of the others."   
Silently Sam held still and, when Jonas was finished, went to the bowl with the warmed water to wash himself.

~

Jonas' words circled in Sam's head while he was eating sweet porridge with pickled cherries for breakfast. Although he hated sweet breakfast, he remained silent - he didn't want to upset Romy, because somehow it seemed unhealthy to him.   
"Samson."   
He flinched.   
"Before we start, you'll have to purify yourself."   
"But I-"   
"I don't mean _washing_. You have to get rid of yesterday's excess magic."   
He looked at her without understanding.   
"You must get rid of your seed."   
That didn't contribute much to his understanding of the task and Romy didn't seem to know exactly what she wanted from him. Finally Sam asked quietly:   
"Could you start again with the excess magic?"   
She tilted her head. "The magic I used on you yesterday seeped into you, and everything that is not needed for the spell remains in your body. That's normal."   
He could follow her so far, it sounded logical, and he nodded.   
"The excess magic is excreted naturally - through sweat, urine and excrement, but it takes quite a while."   
Again he nodded.   
"With witch magic it's a little different, because it's feminine magic and poisonous for a man. Any excess magic that remains in you poisons you and slowly destroys your body."   
"Oh." Anything but happy Sam made a face.   
"Your body can neutralize part of the magic by killing the counterpart to femininity."   
Sam became pale.   
"Your seed is dead and contaminated, you have to get rid of it to advance the detoxification process. And since we work magic every day, every day." Romy's neutral voice didn't make it any better, but the meaning of it slowly seeped into him.   
"You mean I... I have to... so..." They had not yet finished breakfast and that made this conversation abundantly abstruse. Sam's face was burning. "I shall touch myself?"   
"In a way that you get rid of your seed." Romy still sounded as if it was a mystery to her how it would work. "It will be black, I guess, and you'll have to repeat it until it's as dark as the cutlery."   
The cutlery was pale polished silver and the thought of black ejaculate turned Sam's stomach for the second time this morning.   
"What is it?" Romy asked frowning as Sam pushed his bowl away.   
"Nothing," he murmured.   
"Then start."   
He blinked at her and now he was sure she had no idea what she wanted from him.   
"Do you even know what exactly I have to do?" he asked carefully and she stiffened.   
"I have a hunch."   
So much for that.   
"Do you have to watch?"   
She wrinkled her nose. "I don't _want_ to watch." Apparently she thought the whole thing was a nasty affair, but it made Sam feel a little relieved because it meant that she really didn't want to be there.   
"I... um... will go to the bathroom then..." he murmured and she nodded majestically.

In the bathroom he let himself sink against the closed door. He took a deep breath, but when he exhaled it, it sounded a little like a distraught whimper. Where had he landed here? Romy's magic would poison him and if he did nothing about it, his genitals would rot away and he would soon die. Whereby - if he did nothing, Romy would probably, for simplicity's sake, order someone else to do it for him, and the thought that Jonas dutifully carried out her order was no better.   
"Great Mother..." he murmured and closed his eyes; he would rather do it himself.

When he- just seventeen years old- had fallen in love with his mother's new chambermaid, he had quite often touched himself.   
Two years later, when Princess Jessica came to the court to spend a summer with Sam's sister Sarah-Jane, he had again spent a lot of time doing the same.   
And after he had left the court with Isaac to find a bride, he had taken every saved lady as an occasion to indulge in a nice fantasy. If you wrap the truth a little in cotton wool, Romy was also a rescued princess. She was pretty and Sam fumbled his pants open. His favorite fantasy was that the rescued lady fell into his arms full of gratitude on the spot and showed her brave hero how much her life meant to her.

It didn't work. Romy's cool charisma already worked like a damper anyway and when she opened his trousers in his imagination, she told him nose wrinkling: "The foreskin must disappear". He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then let himself sink to the floor at the door and sighed deeply.   
Anne. Anne had worked well. She was pretty and princess-like and he had seen her naked.

Anne worked and with a suppressed outcry he came into his hand. The sperm wasn't black, but at least dark grey, and panting he looked disgusted at the result.  
When the first shock wave had ebbed away, he laboriously stood up and cleaned himself.   
Again the whole thing. He sighed, leaning heavily on the table for the washing bowl. It wasn't half as satisfying as it should have been, and his penis felt extremely sensitive - a second time would be unpleasant. The poisonous magic, however, was a good motivator and so he sat down with his back to a cupboard in which towels were lying, and began to work on himself again (this time, however, he thought of another fair lady, some variety was needed).

~

"Took you quite a while," Romy remarked critically when Sam entered the lab. She sat at her desk and scribbled into a book without looking up.   
"Imposed intimacies take more time than usual," Sam replied stiffly and sat down on his bed. His body still trembled a little too much for his taste. Now Romy looked at him questioningly, but he pressed his lips together and stared back challenging. She had him in her control and he was aware of it, even though she seemed relatively friendly. Maybe an escape would have been possible while he was still in the dungeon, but without Isaac he would never leave. Just as Isaac had sworn to serve his knight faithfully, Sam had sworn as a knight to protect his squire.

Finally, Romy lowered her eyes again to her book, showing a slightly arrogant expression.   
"I want to see Isaac."   
She paused and then nodded. "Come with me."   
They left Romy's apartment and walked silently for quite a while through the castle, down two stairs and finally into a room with a large window front. Romy nodded to the windows and Sam approached one. They were on the first floor and apparently looked down at a training yard where two dozen men in different armour were training together. He recognized Isaac by his movements, for he was stuck in a patchwork of armor and had an old-fashioned helmet on his head, but the posture was unmistakable.   
"Shield down, Isaac, shield down," Sam mumbled quietly, as he had done so many times before. Fear and anger clenched in his stomach, whirling around in it and he clenched his hands to fists. On the training field Isaac took off his helmet and grinned broadly as an older man patted him benevolently on the shoulder. He laughed together with the others and Sam began to tremble. When Romy stepped beside him, he drove around to her.   
"What did you do with him?" A fine pain in his neck reminded him of the stiletto she had tied to him. She looked at him for a moment, then turned her gaze to the training men.   
"He fought like a demon to protect you after I knocked you out. It seemed logical to me to let him train with the guards."   
Sam snorted.   
"He's already a squire and will make a good knight later, the commander is very pleased."   
"That didn't answer my question."   
She straightened her shoulders. "He's calmed down with a combination of drugs and magic."   
Sam made an angry movement and immediately found himself lying on the floor, held down by an invisible hand. While he was fighting against it, she said calmly and without looking at him:   
"He knows that you are well, that you are helping me. He knows that he has to wait until you can talk to each other. It is up to you what happens to him."   
Sam choked and the magic grip loosened a little.   
"You mean, as long as I'm good nothing happens to him?"   
"On the one hand, yes, and on the other hand I really mean it this way. If you like, we can send him back to Whitehill, but then I'd have to tinker a little with his memories." Now she looked at Sam and tilted her head a little.   
"You can have him as a personal body servant if you want, but then we'd have to castrate him."   
Sam groaned in horror.   
"Or he stays where he is and later becomes a knight. Maybe even a knight of the Queen's Guard."   
The magic around Sam disappeared and he struggled to get up.   
"I want to talk to him."   
"In a few weeks."   
"Now."   
"No. He wouldn't understand the situation." Apologizing, Romy shook her head and raised a hand as Sam tried to make another angry response. "Since he is your squire, I made a claim on him. Believe me, the way it is now is best for him. Because Ellie was extremely enthusiastic and you wouldn't want that."   
"Who is Ellie?" he wanted to know suspiciously.   
"My little sister," Romy said briefly and just the way she answered told Sam that she didn't like her sister. She waved at him and, full of sudden resignation, he followed her.   
"You haven't told me yet what you need me for," he said quietly as he followed her through the long corridors like a faithful dog.   
"For a ritual."   
"What kind of ritual?"   
The answer took quite a while.   
"The most important of my life."

~

The rest of the morning Sam had read - not the anatomy book, but one about medicinal plants. After lunch (which to his disappointment consisted of grilled vegetables with bread and a little fruit) he followed Romy back to the lab, where she ordered the big table into the pentagram and pulled a thick sheet out of a closet to spread it over it.   
"Take off your shirt and lie down."   
Sam didn't move. Romy looked at him over her shoulder and raised a brow.   
"Either you're a masochist or you're expecting an explanation."   
"A simple _please_ would be quite nice," he said dryly. "But I'll take an explanation, too."   
She turned away and pulled a book from a shelf.   
"I must prepare you for the ritual," she said and flipped through the book. "So you don't die during it."   
"How nice."   
"Well, it would be nice if you survived at least until the ritual is complete."   
He swallowed hard - those were really bright prospects. The book floated open next to her as she stepped up to a small cupboard and rummaged around until she pulled out something that looked like a quill. Then she looked examining at Sam.   
"You are strong. Stronger than I thought. And admittedly far stronger than I had hoped to find a suitable man."   
"Thank you...?"   
She raised a brow.   
"That sounded like a compliment..."   
"Hmm." She made indecisive. "It's probably one."   
"Social communication standards aren't your thing, are they?"   
"No."   
She deeply confused Sam.   
"Take off your shirt. For the beginning you can sit as well, I'm tall enough."   
He just nodded and took off the shirt which he threw on the bed.   
"I need your back," she explained, as he sat down on the table and swung a leg over it to turn his back towards her. She sat down behind him and a little awkwardly he noticed that she pulled a leg up and pressed her shin against his butt. The book floated over his left shoulder and then he flinched as she placed the quill on his skin.   
"What the... Great Mother, what are you doing?" he asked panting as a sharp pain spread in his shoulder.   
"Write into your skin."   
"_Into_ my skin?"   
"Blood contact is immensely helpful."   
"Aaaahhh... it hurts!"   
"I know. I'm sorry." She didn't sound like she meant it. "I explained to you that witch magic is poisonous for men. So for you to perform the ritual, I must harden you. Since this is generally rather impossible, I refer specifically to the ritual."   
"And- aah!- carve runes in my back for it?"   
"Not only the back. But we start slowly."   
That wasn't very reassuring.   
"Hold still!"   
"You hurt me!" He groaned and got a pat on the back of the head.   
"The more you wriggle, the worse it gets. So - you see?" Apparently she had slipped, because Sam felt a drop of blood running down his back. She snapped and a cloth flew towards her, which she stuffed between her leg and Sam's back to catch the blood there - she probably assumed there would be more and Sam bit his lip.   
She had just finished the first line and his back was a large surface...

~

"Samson..."   
Sam opened his eyes. He lay on his stomach and had no idea when or how that had happened. Blinking, the white spots on the floor formed into a pile of cushions, a pulling pain in his hips and legs reminded him that he was still sitting- or lying- astride on the table, but as his back was feeling like it was on fire, it didn't matter. He groaned.   
"You passed out," Romy informed him from a worktable. "With a few pillows to cushion it was quite helpful, though."   
He moaned and lifted himself up. The waistband, which she had obviously pushed down, slipped up and rubbed against the cuts. A whimper slipped from him and he closed his eyes.   
"I will heal you now and then Jonas will help you wash. By the way, I recommend a purification, it was apparently a little much magic all at once."   
As if the table was a horse, Sam swung to the floor and stumbled because his knees gave way. Surprisingly, Romy caught him and a little impressed he noticed that she was strong enough not only to remain standing, but also to maneuver him back to the table. She sighed as he had to hold on to her so he wouldn't fall right off the table.   
"It's harder than I thought to correctly assess a man's strength," she noted and he groaned into her shoulder. Her cool hand was almost soothing on his back, but then a sharp magic wave went out and he yelled, clawing his fingers into her waist and throwing his head back.   
"Magical Healing compresses the pain that would normally have occurred until the natural healing into a tiny moment." Her voice reached him as if through cotton wool. Darkly he remembered having felt something like gratitude that she wanted to heal his wounds. Now the pain almost made him pass out again and he slumped down. Panting he closed his eyes, but nausea rose in him and he pushed Romy halfway aside as he slipped from the table and then fell violently to his knees where he vomited.   
"That's disgusting..." she mumbled quietly and he didn't give her a very unchivalrous curse just because he was busy with choking.

Sometime later it was Jonas who pulled Sam to his feet and dragged him into the bathroom, where he pressed him onto a stool.   
"Will it get any better?" Sam wanted to know quietly, while Jonas gently let a damp cloth glide over his sore skin.   
"The nausea will stop at some point," Jonas said with a consensual undertone. "But the pain? No. No, I don't think so."   
Sam nodded with his head hanging and felt tears rise in his eyes.   
He should have listened to Isaac.   
Darkmoore had been a bad idea.


	6. Even a small detail can trigger a real drama

"The healer's here."   
Sam stopped as if rooted in the door between the bedroom and the main room.   
"Was about time."   
He didn't see Jonas or Romy, but he also didn't want to. A chair scraped across the floor.   
"Be so good and help him to make himself comfortable. And let me know when he's ready." Romy was always remarkably friendly towards Jonas, which made her cool composure towards Sam seem a bit colder.   
"Of course."   
Judging by the steps, Jonas left the apartment and Sam hesitated. For the last two weeks Romy had cut the runes into his skin every day, into his back and chest and for the last two days also into his arms. Never everything together, of course, because as long as he still had to vomit after such a treatment, it would be too much, she had explained to him. Well, yesterday he had successfully fought down the nausea, but now it came back with full force.   
The healer was there.   
And that could only mean one thing...

"Samson?"   
"Yes?" He entered the main room as if he had not heard what Jonas had said.   
"Ah, good. How was the purification?"   
He made a face; the whole thing had nothing sexual about it anymore, it had become a duty.   
"I mean the color," she added.   
"In the end almost white," he replied reluctantly.   
"Very good. You slowly get used to the amount of magic." She nodded thoughtfully and seemed satisfied.   
"How... how long will it take until the preparations are finished?" he wanted to know and followed her to the lab.   
"Hmm. Hard to say. I want to do it right." She took a look over her shoulder and the discomfort rumbled in his stomach. "Jocelyn and Ellie are each getting ready for their second attempt and honestly, I don't want to do the whole mess twice." She paused and scrutinized Sam from top to bottom so that he blushed. "Besides, I doubt I'll find anyone like you again." Besides the information about Ellie and Jocelyn that he saved for later, he was stupid enough to say:   
"Still, you want to cut something off."   
"Well, yes."   
"Why?" This one little word sounded a little shrill and Sam hated himself for panicking so unchivalrously, but he couldn't help it.   
"Well, because it's disgusting," Romy replied coolly.   
"Disgusting? What is disgusting about it?"   
"Everything." She wrinkled her nose.   
"The Great Mother created men like that! Besides, have you ever seen anything like this before?"   
"On pictures." Her posture stiffened and that alone told him that the subject was a sore spot - not knowing something was terrible in her eyes, he had understood so much by now.   
"On pictures!" He snorted. "We are all as individual as your breasts."   
"Tzz. What do you know so far about breasts?"   
"More than you know about penises!" It was silly, it was childish, but it gave Sam an opening for the chaos inside him. Romy's face became a mask and she pressed her lips together for a moment.   
"Pants down."   
"Pull them down yourself!" Even before he had finished speaking, her magic pushed him against the wall, let his pants slide down and she stepped closer, bent forward and wrinkled her nose.   
"Don't you dare..." he warned her, immobile like a statue by the magic. A wave of the finger and his penis was lifted as if by pointed fingers; Sam almost died of shame.   
"Ugly and disgusting," she noted. "And useless."   
He turned bright red with indignation and when she looked at him condescendingly, it burst out of him:   
"How do you have sex with this attitude?"   
Her cheeks turned deep red. "I don't have sex!"   
"Guess why?" he asked sarcastically back and felt the stiletto and a slap in the face at the same time.   
Sore spot, absolutely. The knight in him shook his head disapprovingly, while the rebel grinned satisfied that he had elicited such a reaction from her.

~

Sam pouted on the sofa because Romy had kicked him out of her lab. Maybe it was better this way.   
Finally Jonas entered and seemed worried at Sam's sight, but went wordlessly to the lab and quietly exchanged a few words with Romy. Together they came back.   
"Come with me," Romy said curtly and Sam stood up reluctantly.  
_It's just a piece of skin_, he said to himself, _not your head._ It didn't help much and soon Jonas had to drag him by the arm with him as they walked through the castle and the few servants they met hurried away by Romy's expression.

Then they reached a small side corridor and Jonas let Sam go to knock on the only door. Almost immediately a "come in" sounded and Jonas opened the door. Romy looked at Sam so darkly that he entered on his own, followed by her and Jonas.   
He was standing in a kind of study, behind the desk an older man with reading glasses was standing up.   
"Ah, that was fast." His hair was light grey, his clothes dark grey.   
"I want it done as quickly as possible," Romy said, bowing her head in greeting. "It hinders my progress."   
"What, there are other reasons than your personal disgust?" Sam immediately regretted his words, but as nervous as he was, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.   
"Shut up," Romy said immediately. "Otherwise I'll sew it up for you."   
"Don't you rather cut the tongue out?" Inwardly he slapped himself.   
"The removal of the tongue is irreversible. The mouth can be sewed up more often if needed."   
The healer actually seemed amused and waved at them to follow him into the next room. It was a kind of laboratory with a large treatment table at its centre. Sam's stomach slid down and apparently landed on his bladder because he suddenly had to pee very urgently. When the healer took a stack of dark brown cloths from a closet, Sam made a step back and bumped into Jonas.   
"Please," he whispered, "please, Romy, please don't."   
Coolly she looked at him.   
"Please," he repeated pleadingly.   
"Would you like me to sew your mouth?"   
"If I can keep my foreskin in exchange." It was stupid. But they had negotiated a compromise before, hadn't they? She raised one hand and her magic pushed him towards the table.   
"No! No, Romy, stop it, please!" He fought against the magic, fought against Romy's will, fought not only because of the small piece of skin, but because of his forced participation in this ritual. She had the power, the control and could do with him what she wanted; her previous relative friendliness was perhaps real, perhaps only a facade - he didn't know, but he wasn't his own master any more and this moment showed it to him for the first time directly so clearly that it almost tore him apart.

He screamed as the magic pressed him onto the table and held him there until he could only turn his head. The healer held a cup to his lips.   
"Drink. It lets you sleep." He sounded friendly, almost compassionate. Sam felt tears running down his face as he lifted his head a little and laboriously swallowed the thick potion that tasted disgusting. Romy approached him and let her fingertips rest on his chest.   
"I'm the one calling the shots here, Samson. I don't want you to die or suffer permanent damage, but you have to obey me."   
"Yes, Romy," he murmured beaten, head and tongue already becoming heavy.   
"Good."   
His eyes closed and something stroked his temple, maybe a cloth, maybe her fingers.   
_I don't want you to die._ He held on to that sentence when the darkness swallowed him up. 

~

When Sam opened his eyes again, he lay rolled up in his bed, his hands wrapped protectively around his privates. Although his fingers felt that it was different, the rest of his body told him that he must have an apple in his pants.   
"Samson?"   
He whimpered as he flinched in surprise. He heard Romy approach and then she knelt down in front of him, an exaggeratedly decorated goblet in her hand. Irritatingly, worry lay in her face.   
"You slept too long."   
Grumbling discontentedly, he closed his eyes. "Go away."   
"I have a potion here which takes away your pain and stimulates wound healing."   
"Go away," he grumbled again. He would have loved to have turned his back towards her, but it was impossible to move his lower body. She sighed.   
"Should I accidentally drop something in your lap to get you to drink?"   
"Bitch."   
"Witch, Samson, the word you're looking for is witch."   
It was the first time he had used such a word, and he felt as if he had crossed an invisible line from where there was no return. With a suppressed groan, he lifted himself to an elbow and accepted the goblet. Sweet and lemony and fresh and bitter, the potion ran down his throat.   
"Maybe you should tell the healer your recipe. This one tastes much better."   
Romy's corners of mouth twitched. "Let me know if you want something to eat." She took the empty goblet and disappeared from Sam's field of vision.   
He closed his eyes, heard her work quietly with some equipment and fell asleep again.

~

Three days Sam spent in a kind of twilight state until he found himself freshly shaved, washed and dressed at the breakfast table without really knowing how and when and where and everything. Especially since he found a juicy omelette with tomatoes, onions and cheese on his plate, while Romy spooned her porridge with pickled fruit as usual. As he ate, he noticed that he was wearing different clothes than usual; the clothes were still simple, but he felt much more comfortable in them. He felt a little different in general, but he couldn't put it into words, as if the circumcision had done more to him than just removing a little piece of his skin.

"Are you an honest man?" Romy asked when Sam shoved the last bite of omelette into his mouth.   
"Knights are raised to honesty," he replied simply.   
"Would you lie to me?" she asked further and with a frown he looked at her.   
"So that you can punish me if you find out? Absolutely not."   
"Hmm." Thoughtfully she played with her spoon.   
"Why do you ask?" he wanted to know and she glanced up.   
"I want to be honest with you." She stood up and turned her back to him.   
"Your old clothes were filled with a spell to keep you calm so you wouldn't think about fleeing."   
Surprised - and somehow not surprised - he looked at the back of her head. "Why-"   
"I replaced the spell with a much more powerful but at the same time more natural bond."   
"What do you mean?" he asked slowly and she turned around, almost as if she felt uncomfortable.   
"In a few days the spell will have reached its first stage and then you will feel uncomfortable if we are separated by a greater distance."   
Sam took a breath, wanted to say something, but she continued:   
"I've never used this spell before, but I expect it will increase to physical withdrawal once the second part is completed."   
"A magical addiction...?" he asked dully and she nodded.   
"The spell on your clothes was only a temporary solution and not very practical in the long run. But to calm you down: as soon as the second stage is completed, it will be the same for me."   
That should calm him down? Hardly.   
"Why didn't you do it from the beginning?"   
"Because I needed a piece of you."   
"And of all things you took my foreskin?" Doubtfully he looked at her and she shrugged.   
"I could have cut a finger off you, too." And when she saw it twitching in his face, she added: "Additional, of course."   
He stood up shaking his head speechlessly.   
"I've eaten more disgusting."   
He flinched, knocked over the chair and then literally stumbled over it. _"Eaten?"_ Horrified, his eyes widened. "Great Mother! What went wrong with you witches?"   
"Would you have preferred a purely aesthetic explanation? At least it had an additional benefit."   
He made a face. "At least it would have left me with the illusion that you were somehow interested in me."   
In a way it seemed to take the wind out of her sails, because the angry expression on her face disappeared and there was no answer.   
"I'll probably die as a virgin on some witch's altar after all. What irony," he muttered and walked towards the laboratory.   
"Samson..."   
"If you're not about to pump poison into me, leave me alone!"   
Surprisingly, she did.


	7. Pissing off a witch causes nasty scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sweets, some pain, some known faces...

"Shut up!"  
Sam paused, he hadn't said a word and was about to sit down at the breakfast table. Romy looked pissed and pale, holding a big steaming cup of strong smelling tea in her hand. Her porridge was still untouched, but thickly covered with honey and decorated with strawberries. Slowly and carefully, Sam sat down in his place, across the corner to her left, and began to eat. As the crunchy bacon strips of his omelet crunched in his mouth, Romy flinched and stared angrily at him. He laboriously swallowed the bite that was still far too big and abundantly unchewed.  
Migraine? His mother sometimes had migraine attacks, and then even the slightest noise could make her jump out of her skin. Romy's charisma was full of dangerous aggression and he sank a little, pushing the potentially deadly bacon aside and trying to make as little noise as possible. Romy, for her part, finally spooned the porridge and took her teacup before disappearing into the lab. Silently, Sam breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself to crunch his now almost cold bacon.

By lunch, Romy had punished him three times with the stiletto and thrown something at him twice, which made him reject his idea about migraines. He had two younger sisters and Ginevra, the younger of the two, had such delightful tantrums during her moontime - combined with puberty it was anything but pleasant for a big brother. And since Romy's behavior was somehow completely out of place, he found his suspicion justified. All the more so when there was roast for lunch - not only for him, but also for her. It was the first time he saw her eat meat (except for a few cubes of bacon in her vegetable piles) and she swallowed it down as if starving, but Sam had no idea what the moontime was doing to a witch. But he didn't really want to know either, because the look she gave him when he dared to touch the dessert bowl next to his plate was devastating. Carefully he pushed the orange-lit dessert towards her.

He remained seated at the table as she rushed into the lab after eating.  
"Great Mother..." he muttered softly and rubbed his forehead. If it went on like this for a few more days, he would end up on an altar much sooner than expected.  
Jonas' entry interrupted his gloomy thoughts and the old servant gave him a cheering smile.  
"Is she always like that during this time?" Sam wanted to know and pointed with his thumb behind him towards the laboratory. Jonas' smile became wider, almost a loving grin.  
"No. It's your presence."  
"Wonderful..." Sam sighed.  
"Don't worry, she needs you." Jonas patted him friendly on the shoulder, from man to man, and Sam tried a smile that failed thoroughly.  
"I've known Romy since she was born, young prince, and she won't do to you anything she would regret bitterly afterwards."  
"So, only things she'll regret just a little bit?"  
Jonas breathed audibly. "Only things she can heal."  
"How reassuring..."  
The tray with the empty plates in his hand the servant paused and gave Sam a thoughtful look.  
"You shouldn't provoke her anyway."  
In response, Sam just nodded and carefully entered the lab. Romy was cursing suppressed and apparently fighting with the cork on a bottle - why she didn't open it with magic was a mystery to Sam, but he didn't even ask in wise foresight. But he stepped beside her death-defyingly and put one hand on the bottle. Romy hissed at him and he swallowed heavily, but then she let go and allowed him to open the bottle. He put both the bottle and the cork on the table and took a step back, but still got a disapproving look.  
"Shut up."  
He nodded and indicated with a gesture that he was sewing his mouth shut.  
"Out!"  
Before anything worse could happen, he took a book and fled to the main room.

~

"Samson?" Princess Anne, wrapped only in Sam's cape, looked up. She knelt before Sam and his open pants and in her face lay excited joy.  
"S-Samson?" Her anxious voice didn't fit the picture, especially not because it was Romy's voice. With this realization, Sam opened his eyes and rolled out of bed at lightning speed. Tense and practically ready to fight, he stood in the lab, blinking into the dancing shadows and gave a surprised "huh?" when he saw Romy standing in the doorway. She held a lantern in her hand, but the long shapeless nightgown irritated Sam the most.  
"Romy?" he asked uncertainly and briefly considered whether he was still dreaming. It had to be the middle of the night.  
"I... Everything is different. I can't sleep." She sounded insecure and actually almost scared and Sam narrowed his brows. He could handle her aggression (in case of doubt he simply avoided her), but this worried him.  
"Please... come with me." Did she just seriously use the word _please_? He was so stunned that he followed her request and approached her to follow her into the bedroom, but after two steps he stopped again. She placed the lantern on the bedside table, climbed into bed, and pulled her knees to the chest around which she wrapped her arms. When he looked at her wordlessly, she nodded to the other side of the bed.  
"The pyjamas are for you."  
"I... what?" He blinked at her.  
"The pyjamas... put them on."  
Hesitantly he walked towards the bed and touched even more hesitantly the pile of dark green shimmering silk. Prompted, she looked at him and as he was sleeping only in the thin pants she had given him especially for it, he let them sink. If she was already inviting him into her bed...  
He slipped into the silk clothing, which had small buttons instead of the usual lacing, and then sat down on the mattress. Slowly his self-confidence returned, mainly because Romy seemed like a picture of misery.  
"And why...?" He didn't find a fitting end to his question that wasn't ridiculous or embarrassing or misleading.  
"Witches can only work magic under great pain during their moontime," Romy said quietly, turning away to put out the lantern. In the sudden darkness, Sam blinked blindly and strained.  
"They are extremely vulnerable then."  
"Why don't you drink some potion for the pain?" he wanted to know quietly and listened to the rustling she caused.  
"Because it would only aggravate the bleeding."  
"Oh." That sounded unpleasant.  
"Now that you're here, it's different... The... the duality of existence..." She took a shaky breath and he frowned even though she couldn't see it.  
"A witch needs a knight, you know."  
"Um..."  
"I need you."  
It took a moment for Sam to understand her words.  
"You have to protect me."  
And then he doubted whether he had heard correctly. That was not nearly what he had expected. Not that he had really expected to _really_ be invited into her bed, but this...?  
"Okay...", he said slowly, "and what should it look like?"  
"It's enough if you sleep here." It sounded like there was a "for the moment" missing at the end, but he kept the thought to himself. Instead he made himself comfortable in the pillows and blankets and tried not to think too much about how strange his first night with a woman in the same bed was.

"Samson?" Romy whispered, and Sam made a noise that was supposed to indicate that he had heard her.  
"Do you have warm hands?"  
He registered the question, his body answered _yes_, and since he was actually asleep, he simply stretched out his arm in Romy's direction instead of taking the trouble of a verbal answer.  
Ice cold fingers stroked his naked arm and then a barely less cold body snuggled up to him. He shuddered, but the warm scent of vanilla and winter spices in his nose soothed him enough that he curled up protective and warming around Romy.

~

Waking up nestled to a woman was in theory a nice idea, but in practice a little disturbing.  
This was first of all because the woman in question was a witch whose previous touches had almost all been painful, and secondly because Sam's morning glory was a little too perfect where he would have liked it under other circumstances. Well, a morning boner wasn't the problem either, it was something completely normal and didn't have much sexual about it either, Sam was aware of it, but when he really became aware of _what_ was nestled there in his lap, it changed abruptly. Especially as Romy held his hand and pressed it pretty tightly between her breasts.  
Great Mother!  
Slowly and carefully he pulled his hand back, but Romy grabbed it again.  
"Don't go..." she mumbled sleepily.  
"But-"  
"You're warm."  
In a few hours it would also be very warm outside, after all it was summer, but that didn't change the heat shooting through Sam's body. Maybe, he thought to himself, he should just enjoy it. So he buried his nose in her hair and dozed off again.

They spent the day in consensual, albeit somewhat embarrassed silence from Sam's side. Under Romy's brief instructions, he took care of herbs, powder and all sorts of other reagents, sorted glasses, pots and pans and when Jonas came with dinner, the lab was meticulously tidied up.

Sam looked up as Romy walked past him, rubbing her eyes tiredly. It was just a little wave of the finger, but he put his book aside and followed her into the bedroom.  
"Go and wash yourself," she said quietly and began to unravel her hair. When he returned after a dutiful execution of the order, she was already sitting on the bed in her nightgown, braiding her long hair into a plait. She nodded to the side where the silk pyjamas were, and Sam changed. He hadn't really sat down on the bed when Romy said:  
"Lie down." She sounded tired, but it still reminded him uncomfortably that this was by no means an equal thing. Accordingly, he obeyed, watched her extinguish the light, and then flinched as she laid a hand on his chest in the darkness.  
"Are all men that warm?" she wanted to know when she snuggled up to him.  
"I don't know", Sam replied slowly and put an arm around her. He hoped that he would not find out on the unpleasant route where he was _not_ allowed to put his hand. "I don't get that close to other men."  
She snorted - it sounded almost amused - and now put an arm across his chest.  
"That's called _cuddling_, right?"  
"Mmh.", he agreed. Pronounced, the whole thing sounded quite strange; knights normally didn't cuddle with their protégés. But on the other hand, his, well, _relationship_ with Romy was all a little strange (not to mention that she obviously only knew the meaning of the word _cuddle_ from books, although Sam couldn't even imagine that she was reading some where something like that happened).  
"Do you like it?"  
The question surprised him a little. "Well, I'd like it more if it led somewhere."  
She snorted - this time it sounded anything but amused.  
"Obviously, men think only of sex for real."  
"You always want what you don't have," Sam returned dryly.  
"Hmm," she made thoughtful and the conversation seemed to be over.

~

The third night Sam went into Romy's bed without being asked and snuggled up to her; all in all it was a really nice feeling.

The fourth night it was she who snuggled up to his back and pressed her cold nose into his neck.

The fifth night she had nightmares and he lulled her in his arms for hours to calm her and dry her tears. It completely surprised him, but it was a good reminder that even witches were human beings and had vulnerable moments. He would have liked to know what she had dreamed of, but he didn't dare to ask.

After the sixth night Sam awoke alone. He washed, dressed, and then went into the main room for breakfast, where his face froze when he saw Romy. She looked at him so ice-cold that he would have loved to disappear into the ground.  
"Go to the lab and don't touch anything until I get there."  
"Yes, Romy," he whispered and as he set himself in motion, he feverishly thought about what he might have done wrong. He couldn't think of anything, but that didn't have to mean anything.

When she entered the laboratory, she held a cloth in her hand, on which it shone wet.  
"Your arm."  
He obediently stretched out his arm and she smeared a kind of gel on his forearm.  
"What... oh... aaah..." Almost immediately the spot began to burn like fire and within a few heartbeats the pain spread to the fingertips and up to the shoulder. He tried to pull the arm to protect it, but Romy held him relentlessly, her face a cold mask, as he began to wheeze in pain.  
"You shouldn't have spent the night in my bed."  
He had the feeling something was clenching his chest because he could barely breathe. "I..."  
"I gave you no sign you were welcome."  
"I... but..." He had no idea what she meant by this sign, but he already saw colorful dots dancing in front of his eyes. Carefully he glanced at his arm and screamed as the visual impression increased the feeling of pain. Smoke rippled from the wound, which looked as if flesh and blood were boiling in it. He couldn't feel his fingers any more and fleetingly the thought occurred to him that he might lose part of his arm and that made him sob.  
"Romy, please... make it stop! Please!"  
No reaction.  
"Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, Romy, _please_!" He stammered and begged while tears blurred Romy's face in front of him.  
"It won't happen again."  
"No. No, please, I swear, I'm sorry, it won't happen again, please, Romy, _please_..." His arm was numb up to his shoulder and his knees trembled so much that he almost fell when Romy pulled him a bit to the side. Over his own sobbing and whimpering, he heard water splashing and he noticed that she was washing his arm.  
In the meantime he trembled uncontrollably and had a hiccup, but she didn't seem to care.  
First she poured a red, then a green, then a clear liquid from small bottles over the wound, then she dabbed his arm dry with a cloth. Disparagingly, she mumbled something to herself that Sam probably didn't _want_ to understand, and then pressed a kind of compress on the wound before quickly applying a bandage.  
"You don't deserve a healing," she explained, as if she had read his thoughts.  
"Yes, Princess," he whispered, a little dazed by the pain and probably by the stuff she had put on the wound.  
"Disappear."  
"Where to?" he asked barely audible as she turned away.  
"You are a knight, so go to the barracks. I will call for you when you may come back."  
"Yes, princess." He pressed his deaf arm against his body and stumbled out of the lab.

~

"Sam!"  
Sam flinched - he felt his shoulder again - and turned around.  
"Isaac!"  
His squire came up to him, almost ran and looked as if he wanted to embrace him stormy, but then held back. The joy that flooded Sam was greatly dampened by the pain, but he smiled broadly at Isaac. His smile, however, collapsed.  
"You cried!"  
"Yes," Sam quietly admitted, and his smile also died. He lowered his gaze and suddenly felt very small.  
"Did one of Romy's experiments explode?" The question was so curious, so innocent that Sam looked up.  
"Something like that...," he replied cautiously and Isaac nodded thoughtfully as he looked at the bandage.  
"You have to be careful, you know," he explained, and Sam raised a brow in surprise. "Romy doesn't want you to get hurt."  
"Oh. And she told you or what?" Sam asked dryly. It stung him when Isaac seemed hurt.  
"Yes, she did. She was here a few times to talk to me. I think she's very nice." A little miffed, Isaac half turned away. Sam was missing the words, but his overall condition for the moment was not necessarily designed for conversation. Only when the silence dragged on did he remember that they kept Isaac quiet with magic and drugs and he sighed softly.  
"Forgive me, Isaac. I had a pretty horrible morning..."  
Isaac's posture relaxed immediately. "It's okay, Sam." He turned around again and gave Sam a smile. "I feel good here, you know. The commander says he is very pleased with me and the others are all very nice."  
"Good to hear." Sam forced himself to smile. "I'm sorry I don't have much time for you."  
"It's okay, really. I want to be a knight and you need a bride." Isaac shrugged with a smile. "We're both working on the problem."  
"Isaac!", it suddenly sounded across the square.  
"Yes, sir!" Immediately Isaac hurried away and Sam looked after him. Had Isaac really just hinted that Sam had a plan to marry Romy...? The thought made him shudder and by the way he realized that he could feel his upper arm again.  
"Well, someone must have pissed off his witch...", someone mocked him and Sam turned around. A young man came out of the door through which he himself had stepped onto the training ground. According to his dark skin and his face with its curved nose, he came from somewhere in the south. He wore a leather armour, a sword dangled at his side and in his hand he held a mixture of helmet and leather cap. Protectively, Sam pressed the injured arm against himself.  
"Looks like it."  
"Don't worry about it, they like punishments," the man said with a grin. At that moment a redhead stepped out of the castle, half dressed in leather armor, half in plate armor, and with an unpleasantly large sword on his back.  
"And our Henry here loves to be punished by Ellie." The redhead slapped Henry on the back, who stared back only half angry.  
"By the way, I think that's part of the ritual." The redhead nodded to Sam's arm. "We all have those."  
He nudged Henry again. "And a few of us also several of them."  
Henry snorted. "I just don't take everything just like that."  
"As I said, you like punishments."  
"When Ellie hears you, you'll _both_ be punished," a third voice interfered. "But that- _Sam_?"  
Sam turned his head. His eyes grew big in amazement as he looked at the young man staring back in surprise.  
_"Franz?"_


	8. Just because you share the same destiny it doesn't automatically make you allies

Sam couldn't believe it. He just managed to swallow the very stupid question "what are you doing here?", instead he said:   
"Shouldn't you be on the other side of the Ionian Mountains making some princess happy?"   
"Well, you know," Franz started, wearing a chain mail and holding a bow in his hand, "they sent a dragon as escort, but apparently he had some orientation problems regarding the east-west axis and probably thought at the end that princess would remain princess. Whether I make her happy, though, is another question."   
"Oh," Sam made dumb and the redhead grinned.   
"Had you said anything, I would have come to save you." He winked at Sam. "I have a little experience."   
"You've already killed dragons?" Sam asked and raised a brow.   
"Yeah. Two." He put himself a little in pose and Henry murmured:   
"Show-off."   
"Seven," Sam said plainly.   
"And why should I believe you?", the redhead wanted to know skeptically, obviously a little offended.   
"Ask Isaac, my squire. Or Romy. I put the last one at her feet." The last part dripped with sarcasm; Franz just shook his head, while Henry mumbled again "Show-off" and the redhead laughed.   
"All right, all right." He made efforts to reach out his hand to Sam to greet him, but then let it go. "Owen. In my mercenary days also known as Owen the Dauntless."   
"Sam." Sam nodded to him and just smiled. He had to give a terrible picture, but at least he could still impress another dragon slayer.   
"_Sam_." Franz snorted. "Feel honored by the presence of Samson Frederick Alexander Appleberry, Crown Prince of Whitehill, Lord of-"   
"Alexander Frederick," Sam corrected Franz's dramatic interlude.   
"You know each other?" Henry asked, as if it wasn't entirely obvious.   
"Who doesn't know him, the grandiose Franz-Ludwig Maximilian Bellcastle, Prince of Sunplains?" Sam mocked and got a devastating look from Franz.   
"Kyaine, Sam, the country is called Kyaine."   
"Only in the imperial translation and you are the _last_ ones to use this language."   
Franz sighed resignedly, Sam smiled and Owen laughed quietly. Henry seemed confused, but skilfully overplayed it - albeit with subliminal aggression.   
"Well, here you are still just sacrificial animals."   
"You don't know that," Owen said with a sharp undertone.   
"What do you know about the ritual?" Sam wanted to know quickly when Henry started to reply.   
"Probably not much more than you," Franz said dejectedly. "It's a ritual of maturing and gives them access to their true power." Sam hadn't known that yet and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.   
"But the chosen man almost always dies," Henry said, adding a little maliciously: "And Ellie wants Franz for it."   
"But _almost always_ isn't 100%," Sam said frowning and Franz sighed uneasily.   
"No. But I've been here for a little over a year and both Ellie and Jocelyn failed their first attempt in that time."   
"But you're still alive."   
"I was the replacement."   
"Ah. Oh." Sam was confused. "Why does Ellie have three... chosen ones anyway?"   
Triple shrugging was the answer.   
"Ask her," Henry suggested lightly and Franz made a face.   
"Not recommendable."   
Sam simply nodded.   
"What did you do to get kicked out?" Henry then wanted to know curiously and now it was Sam who made the face. Somehow he was embarrassed.   
"Judging by the bandage, you know the answer," Owen said and gave Henry a push. He seemed to suppress a mean smile that Sam didn't like at all.   
"What do you mean?" he asked.   
"I think we all owe this pretty scar to a part of the ritual. Or its preparation," Owen replied and Franz rubbed his forearm.   
"I rather think it's a warning."   
"If, then a ceremonial one."   
"We can agree on that."   
"A warning? From what?" The three looked at Sam critically.   
"We agree that a witch needs a protector in her bed during her moontime, yes?"   
Sam nodded to Owen's question.   
"And we all agree that we all spent one night too much there?"   
Sam nodded again, albeit hesitantly.   
"It's their body," Henry threw in, because this game was obviously too stupid for him.   
"Their body?" Sam felt quite uninformed and Franz looked at him doubtfully.   
"My friend, you've always taken the virtues of being a knight far too seriously."   
"But-"   
"Witch magic is poisonous to men," Franz said. "They take magic out of their bodies, so their bodies are poisonous."   
"Yes, but-"   
"It's their pussy," Henry said straight out, interrupting Franz's explanation.   
"Excuse me?" Sam blinked at him. After four years traveling, he had picked up some dirty vocabulary and knew what Henry meant. But somehow the connection was missing.   
"She smeared the juice of her pussy on your arm."   
"That's what I meant by warning," Franz interjected even before Sam had digested the information. "Imagine putting your sword in there."   
Sam got sick. "How do you know that?" he asked, disgusted, to Henry, who displayed a fine smile.   
"I saw it, quite simple."   
"But _why?_" Suddenly Sam was glad he hadn't had breakfast.   
"Here the minds divide again," Franz began, but was interrupted by Owen.   
"That is exactly the question. I mean, the preparations for the ritual are designed to harden us against the witch magic"- Franz nodded in agreement- "but what happens during the ritual?" He shrugged. "I think it has something to do with sex."   
"And _I_ still think it's a sacrifice," Henry threw in, shaking his head. "Why else Ellie would want Franz?" Franz turned red with indignation.   
"Excuse me, I'm-"   
"Yeah, yeah, shut up." Henry rolled his eyes. "The thing is: Witches are deadly poisonous and somehow they have to neutralize it, otherwise Queen Ruby wouldn't have three daughters."   
"And you mean, if a witch sacrifices a man, she neutralizes her poison? Bullshit. Then _all_ the men would die and they don't." Owen shook his head.   
"Romy said she didn't want me to die," Sam threw in quietly.   
"There you go!" Triumphantly, Owen looked at Henry.   
"Maybe it's a pseudo sacrifice," Franz said in an attempt to reach some kind of compromise. Or, Sam suspected, the three of them had already had this kind of discussion often enough. "The man only dies if he's not well prepared and doesn't last long enough." He took a critical look at Sam. "And I doubt that a dick would last that long for such a treatment."   
"Urgh."

The discussion went on in circles until there was a gong calling for lunch. Sam simply followed the other three into the large dining room of the guards and knights and then the conversation turned to all sorts of other topics.

"So you haven't managed to find a wife in four years?" Owen asked skeptically at some point. "What is the problem? I mean, put yourself on the marketplace and shout it out loud. You look good enough to make it work."   
Sam blushed, but Franz answered for him:   
"That wouldn't be very chivalrous."   
"As if you had any idea of knighthood," Sam returned angrily.   
"Enough to know that most of it is absolutely silly." To underline his words, Franz waved his fork. "Look where your virtues have taken you."   
"Well, Prince Sam will probably die a martyr," Henry happily interjected. "First save princesses and then be killed by one, what irony."   
"You don't know that for sure," Sam gave back and tried not to show his insecurity too clearly at this point.   
"Nevertheless," Franz picked up the thread again. "It's not heroic to stay here. And it's not fun either."   
"Who says it's fun to kill dragons and save fair ladies? That's rather frustrating."   
"I've always told you, swords of steel bring nothing but trouble."   
Sam rumbled quietly. Even though Sunplains- Kyairn- wasn't a neighbor of Whitehill, he and Franz had spent a lot of summers together in their childhood and youth. And while Sam was training diligently, Franz was indulging more and more in idleness (which meant swinging swords- though not steel ones).   
"If all men only swung the sword between their legs, the world would be a pretty gloomy place."   
Henry giggled, Owen laughed, Franz blushed, but shrugged. "I don't think so. If _you_ would swing yours more often, you wouldn't be so pinched. And long married and not here therefore."   
Sam didn't come up with a suitable answer to that, so he stared at Franz gloomily for a moment before he set about eating clumsily with his left hand again.

~

Thanks to his injury, Sam didn't have much choice but to watch the others train, talking alternately with Owen and Franz about swordplay and archery. He had noticed that he didn't like Henry very much - the guy had something gloomy, somehow disturbing about him - and it seemed to him as if it was mutual. Accordingly, he wasn't angry when Henry was ordered to the castle and didn't come back when Sam followed Owen and Franz to the bathhouse of the barracks after the almost endless training.

To his surprise, there was a separate area for the knights of the Queen's Guard and for some reason they were counted among them. Sam struggled a little with his clothes, but refused to be helped - he still had so much pride.   
There were already three knights sitting in the large basin, nodding to them and not being bothered further in their conversation at the other end, when Owen splashed into the water with little dignity and Franz sat down extremely adorned at the edge of the basin before he let himself slide in. Since Sam didn't want to wet his bandage, he simply sat down at the edge of the pool and let his legs dangle in the surprisingly warm water.   
"There are benches here," Owen said after appearing snorting next to Sam.   
"Maybe, but keeping your arm so high in the long run is uncomfortable."   
"As you like." Owen shrugged and wiped his wet hair from his face. He had plenty of scars on his upper body and arms and Sam assumed that mercenaries had a lot to do.   
"I suppose Romy threw you out unlimited?" Franz sat on one of the benches to Sam's right and looked up at him while he rubbed himself with a sponge he had who knows where from. Sam shrugged and nodded at the same time.   
"I honestly have no idea where to sleep tonight." He had already thought about it and assumed that a free bed could be found in the barracks.   
"With us", Owen said with certainty and Franz nodded, although he sighed. Sam frowned.   
"Why not in the barracks?"   
"Well, technically we have our room in the barracks..." Franz said slowly. "But it was ordered from the very top. Even if you really wanted to, the quartermaster wouldn't put you in one of the dormitories."   
Owen nodded in agreement. "It'll be cuddly, but Henry might stay in the lab." At that thought Franz shivered and Sam looked at him questioningly.   
"What's so bad about it?"   
"Ellie's laboratory is... not very pleasant. And having to sleep there is even less."   
"Looks like they're two very different sisters..."   
"Oh yes..." was Owen's dry comment before he went down again. From the corner of his eye Sam noticed how Franz looked at him.   
"What is it?"   
"You're wearing shackles and no ring," the other prince said.   
"Prisoners wear shackles as far as I know. And why should I wear a ring?" Sam wanted to know confused. Owen, who had apparently heard the last part when he re-appeared, said:   
"Because we and Erik wear one."   
"Who is Erik and what kind of ring would that be?"   
Owen lifted himself out of the basin and sat next to Sam, while Franz said:   
"Erik is Jocelyn's Chosen One."   
"That," Owen said at that moment, reaching for his privates, "is a ring." Sam blinked in amazement at the black ring surrounding the base of his testicles. "Less conspicuous, same effect, greater control."   
"Looks painful."   
"It's only when Ellie gets angry," Franz said quietly and Sam narrowed his brows in doubt.   
"I think I prefer my handcuffs."   
"The Queen's Guard also wears some, but others," Owen said and nodded weakly towards the other knights. Sam shook his head.   
"Witches are strange."   
"You can say that out loud," Franz mumbled quietly, but Owen laughed quietly:   
"I think the witches see it differently."   
"Whose side are you on?" Franz grumbled discontentedly and Owen's grin shrank to a smile.   
"On mine, dear Franz."

~

Despite Owen's sentence "it gets cuddly", Sam hadn't thought that the room of the three would first of all be incredibly small and secondly had only two beds. When Henry joined them, just as they were actually entering the room, it was full. Owen, who had entered first, sat down on the right bed, looked at Sam and patted invitingly next to him.   
"We're used to sharing beds now."   
"Hmm," Sam made indefinite and sat down, also so that he wouldn't stand in the way. The dinner was heavy in his stomach and although he had done nothing all day (nothing useful or productive at least), he was tired. Franz had been here for over a year, Owen and Henry about half a year, and Sam looked at them to see that they were a well-rehearsed team. Even if it was one that constantly squabbled. He felt like an intruder.

Annoyed about some little thing, Franz finally started to undress, which was the sign for Henry, Owen and therefore Sam to go to sleep. Only in his thin underpants Sam suddenly shivered in the cool room where the sultry heat of the beginning summer had not yet arrived. He was almost happy to share a blanket with Owen and thought for a moment about Romy's question if all the men were so warm. The question was easily answered with _yes_, because Owen didn't bother in any way to keep his distance from Sam, while Franz put out the lantern and kept nagging in a way that Sam was terribly familiar with and that seemed to be in some ways characteristic of princes- if he wanted to, he could do it too, even if he thought in the meantime he was too old for it.

A strange noise made Sam flinch.   
"Sh!", Owen made soundless. Obviously already been fallen asleep, Sam had turned his back towards him, against which he now pressed himself. The strange noise sounded again, a mixture of groaning and moaning.   
"What...?"   
"Sh!" Owen did a second time directly to Sam's ear. "The two are busy."   
"_What?"_   
"Don't play dumb, Sam, we all need to get rid of the magic."   
A cold shiver ran over Sam's body and he stiffened as Owen's hand touched his chest.   
"I didn't want to ask in the bathroom earlier, but what actually happened to your hair?" Owen wanted to know when a grunt sounded from the other bed.   
"I... Romy magically depilated me," Sam mumbled embarrassed and Owen giggled softly.   
"If you didn't have all the muscles, you'd be considered a child."   
Sam snorted and then stiffened again as Owen's hand slipped into his underpants.   
"Whereby... _this_ certainly doesn't belong to any child."   
"Get your hand out!" Sam hissed and Owen squeezed gently.   
"Shh. After what Romy did, you deserve it." Tenderly his fingers stroked Sam's skin. "We take turns, you know, and you're lucky. First because I really like it cuddly, second because I didn't have magic today and don't need it, and third because I'm not Henry."   
It calmed Sam down only partially. "Take the hand- snh!" Under the gentle touch of a strange hand Sam grew hard, Owen's warm breath on his neck and ear gave him goose bumps.   
"Relax...," Owen whispered as the groaning and grunting in the background intensified. Sam didn't want to hear it, didn't want to be touched, didn't want to be here, but there was a part of his body that was getting louder and louder which wanted it very much. Owen's lips touched his neck and the back of his shoulder, and while gently but firmly stroking Sam, he made little encouraging sounds that appealed to Sam - it was intentional, but extremely strange, especially because the other two sounded anything but romantically involved.   
"Why are you doing this?" Sam mumbled and bit his lip.   
"To warn you. Since I've been here, I've had to fight for everything. Food, a bed, privacy, not least my life... You don't and I don't want you to run into the open knife about Henry. Ellie likes him and when all this is over, you two will probably be chained forever to two nice witch sisters."   
Sam gasped and pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. His abdomen was tingling.   
"Show Henry you can defend yourself, otherwise he'll make Ellie think you're weak and Romy's made a bad choice."   
"And- hoo- a fight between the- haah- two would be bad?"   
"Absolutely."   
Sam could feel Owen nodding. "What's- phew- with you?"   
"You make me hard."   
"That's-" The rest of the sentence died on Sam's lips because suddenly he could only breathe chopped off.   
"Come for me, pretty prince," Owen whispered in Sam's ear and Sam came into Owen's hand, emitting a rather miserable sound that was muffled by the hand he pressed to his mouth.

~

"Can you fight with your left?"   
"I am a knight, so the answer is no."   
"You should change that. Such a sword arm is faster off than you think."   
"You don't even know my style, so why do you criticize it?"   
"Because you knights are all the same. You are all trained according to the same textbooks. But the people out there aren't."   
"I know that, Owen, I've been out there for more than four years. How do you think I got seven dragons?"   
"You are serious, aren't you?"   
"About what?"   
"The one with the seven dragons."   
"Of course. Why should I lie?"   
"So that you seem more heroic? I mean, hey, you're a prince."   
"And how many princes do you know to judge what princes normally are like?"   
"With you and Franz three. You wouldn't happen to know Gavin of Threehills?"   
"So quite by chance, yes. He married my younger sister Ginevra in the fall."   
All of a sudden, Owen stopped and Sam saw a whole series of emotions scurrying across the angular face. The lottery wheel stopped at a kind of resigned sadness.   
"Was to be expected..." he finally muttered.   
"How do you know him?" Sam wanted to know carefully and Owen sighed. He rubbed his face and half turned away.   
"Fight left; depending on how well you do, we'll exchange stories."   
"Only if you fight with your left too."   
"It's difficult with a two-handed."   
"Maybe, but I can't use a shield."   
Owen sighed again. "Fine..."

To Sam's relief, in the morning everyone had acted as if nothing had happened at all in the night - and so he did as well. Franz had been called to Ellie, Henry was to attend some training and Sam had joined Owen. Only to find himself with wooden swords in his left hand, feeling like he was the biggest dork on earth. But somehow it was also funny and when they fell exhausted into the grass, Owen's mood had eased again.   
"You know," he started without any request from Sam, "I was on my way with my troop to take out such a crazy wizard when we heard Prince Gavin was kidnapped by a dragon."   
"Which one?"   
"What, Wizard? Um... Something with mistletoe, I think."   
"Oh, Michael Mistletoe? I took care of him. Had kidnapped Lady Liliane."   
"Hmm, thank you. Yes. Well, we saved Gavin. More or less, at least. Half of my troop was killed and the other half was pretty upset afterwards, so I was the only one who brought Gavin back to his parents. We... we were like a couple, you know..."   
"I suppose the King didn't find that excessively pleasing?"   
"Not really. But it took him almost two years to wear Gavin down so much that he agreed to marry this princess. Well... and then he sent me away."   
"Just like that?" Sam asked quietly and hoped that he sounded at least a little compassionate, because Owen sounded as if it had taken him quite a bit.   
"Not just like that, no. And I can understand _why_, but it still hurts."   
"Hmm...", Sam agreed, patting Owen briefly on the shoulder and getting a short nod.   
Then they sat there in consensual silence until the gong called for lunch.

~

Sam sat on the bed and massaged a relaxing herbal extract into his left arm as the door blew open and Owen and Henry entered. The two were loudly arguing and Sam had no idea what it was all about, but none of the two looked like they were supporting an interposed question. Just as he was casting a glance at Franz, who was sitting on the other bed and had just read, the situation began to escalate. Henry pushed Owen against the table, Owen skilfully intercepted himself and kicked, so that Henry staggered back grunting - which was not that easy in the tiny room. Franz sat down next to Sam with gentle movements.   
"Don't get involved."   
"I wouldn't have done even without injury. That's none of my business."   
"Our noble knight isn't so stupid after all."   
"Your knight jokes are getting boring, Franz."   
"We only spent two days together," Franz protested and they both flinched when a chair broke during the narrowed fight.   
"Yes, but I've known you for twenty years. And you've been making your knight jokes since you didn't pass the entrance exam at fourteen. That was more than ten years ago."   
Franz sulked a little, but Sam didn't pay any further attention, because Owen had grabbed Henry by the neck and pressed him onto the now free second bed, where he struggled.   
"Do you want it that way or would you rather go on your knees?" Owen wanted to know angrily and Sam raised a brow. Henry choked out an answer and Owen let him go, sat down relaxed on the bed and Sam watched in amazement as Henry kneeled in front of the bed, unlaced Owen's pants and then set about pleasing him with his mouth.   
The sight was unpleasant for Sam and the slurping noises more disgusting than arousing, but Owen seemed quite pleased.   
"Are they serious?" he muttered to Franz, who simply nodded.   
"That's how it works here."   
Suddenly Sam was more than happy that he was just a temporary guest here. "We should go to sleep."   
"Hmm," Franz agreed, and then Sam became uncomfortably aware that he would sleep in a bed with Franz.

_The summer was hot, although it hadn't really started yet. Sam and Franz had snuck away from the preparations for the birthday party of Franz's eldest sister and had stumbled across a small pond in the forest into which they had jumped. And now they lay naked in the moss and dozed off.   
"Hey Sam..."   
"Hmm?"   
"What do you think of Olivia?"   
"She's nice."   
"Nothing more?"   
"No."   
"Don't you think she's pretty?"   
"I don't know. Why do you want to know, Franz?"   
"I'm just asking."   
"You never ask just like that."   
"Yeah, okay... she said she'd like to kiss you."   
Sam opened his eyes and looked over to Franz, who had obviously been looking at him the whole time.   
"I don't think I want to kiss her," Sam said after a moment.   
"Why not?"   
"I've never kissed a girl before and I don't want to start with Olivia. Especially not if she wants it. What if I embarrass myself completely?"   
Franz laughed and Sam felt himself blushing.   
"I could show you how it works."   
"What, to embarrass yourself? Thank you, but I will refrain from deepening lessons there."   
"The kissing, you idiot!"   
Sam lost the grin when he saw how serious Franz was about it. "Why not...?" he murmured carefully and immediately Franz slipped closer.   
"Close your eyes. And open the mouth a little bit."   
Sam did the same immediately and then he felt Franz' warm lips on his, answered the kiss instinctively and after a few seconds an unknown but very pleasant warmth flooded him. It felt good.   
"You are a natural talent," Franz muttered.   
"Really?"   
"Hmm..."   
Sam lost all sense of time; they could have kissed for only a minute or an hour, but at some point Franz's hand was no longer on Sam's ribs, as it had been at the beginning, but gently embraced Sam's privates. He had become hard, and he noticed it only now. Uncertainly he felt for Franz. He hummed agreeing into the kiss and then they kissed and caressed each other until they covered each other up and a second bath in the pond was necessary. _

_For two weeks this was their new afternoon activity until Franz wanted to explore a different region of Sam and Sam protested. Franz was offended, Sam felt forced - their friendship received a strong damper from which it didn't recover._

The grunting and groaning and moaning between Owen and Henry went into the second round after the light had been extinguished and Sam wished himself far away. That was something private and didn't belong in a shared bedroom like this.   
"You know, we could pick up where we left off ten years ago."   
Sam, who tried to position his injured arm somehow between himself and Franz, paused.   
"With what? That you shoved a finger up my butt and only asked afterwards if I wanted to do that at all?"   
Franz sighed softly. "I'm sorry. I still am."   
"And I still resent you."   
Franz sighed again. "Have you actually ever kissed anyone else?"   
"... no," Sam reluctantly admitted. He had once deliberately got drunk in a tavern to find the courage to talk to one of the girls, but unfortunately - or fortunately? - Isaac had fulfilled his duties and had stopped Sam from doing so.   
"What about your princess? Well, the right one, I mean. Why aren't you already married?" Sam wanted to know then, to change the subject and to drown out the noises of the other two.   
"Her name is Gabrielle," Franz reminded him. "And she is a knight. She has duties." He sighed. "I was there, for the official engagement, but somehow something came up again and again and then this stupid dragon passed by..."   
"Do you think she's looking for you personally?"   
"As I know my father, he will have somehow swept the matter under the table. You haven't heard anything about it, have you?"   
Sam denied it.   
"Well... Maybe I'm just recovering from some terrible disease somewhere, no clue. But hardly anyone will come to Darkmoore."   
"No, probably not...", Sam mumbled quietly.

~

"You filthy scumbag of a prince have no idea what you're talking about!"   
Sam groaned as Henry dragged him across the table, the bowls with the heavy stew clattering to the ground and spreading their contents everywhere. Somehow he hadn't expected Henry to be so strong.   
"I do very well," Sam hissed and straightened up with a jolt. Actually, Sam had only mocked a little, but apparently unerringly hit Henry's sore spot. Neither Owen nor Franz were present and the rest of the knights and guards in the dining room remained silent when Henry jumped over the table and pushed Sam to the ground because he could not get away from the long bench fast enough. However, he grabbed Henry's shirt and they both crashed on the tiles, where Henry gave Sam a violent blow to the chin so that Sam hit his head a second time within seconds.

Actually, the day had started well. In the morning they had all made fun of fighting with their left hand, and in the afternoon Sam had decided to practice a little archery despite his aching arm. Henry had joined in at some point and - hidden under all sorts of hatred and condescension - given some very useful hints, but now at dinner the mood changed.   
Sam was overwhelmed by a flood of swear words, interrupted by the commander's voice.   
"Get out! Both of you!"   
Since Sam didn't obey fast enough, someone grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet. Dazed, he stumbled next to Commander Richard and promptly went down again when Henry hit him again in the face, as soon as the door of the dining room had closed behind them.   
"Bastard!"   
Sam didn't even go for it, but struck back. It crunched - and luckily it wasn't Sam's knuckles. He knew why he usually avoided such blunt fights, but this time he had no choice.   
Punching, kicking and swearing, they moved through the barracks, but Sam realized only that Henry had deliberately steered him as he stumbled through a door into a familiar room and crashed into the bedpost, the tip of which was painfully drilled into the kidney area.   
Behind Henry the door slammed shut.   
"Try to defend yourself, Sam," Henry said, breathing heavily, and approached Sam, who struggled to breathe and tried to stay on his feet. Without armor and sword he wasn't half as good a fighter as he would have liked.   
"Come on, fight back, little prince."   
Blood dripped from Sam's nose, Henry's lower lip had split.   
"Come on, Sam..."   
"Shut up..."   
Henry laughed. Two punches, a kick, an outcry and Sam was pressed onto the bed by Henry's hand in the neck.   
"Franz and Owen like that, you know?"   
Sam wasn't capable of more than a choked sound. He was lying extremely unfavorably on his injured arm, otherwise he might have really been able to defend himself, but so he was half numb from the pain in all kinds of body parts and Henry's body weight in his neck was extremely effective.   
A little awkward and quite painful for Sam, Henry pulled Sam's pants down and then hot skin pressed against his bare butt while Henry's free hand reached forward.   
"Too bad you don't have a ring."   
Sam groaned as Henry squeezed painfully and didn't want to know what Henry liked so much about these rings.   
"But whatever..." Henry spat once, twice and backed away a bit, then something pushed painfully and urgently against Sam's anus. Sam laboriously choked down a scream.   
Don't scream, he ordered himself, if you have to let yourself be humiliated, then at least without screaming.

He didn't scream, but he cried.

~

The cool night air came from the south, from Whitehill, and Sam closed his eyes longingly. The tears had dried, the pain had subsided, but somewhere in his soul a crack had opened. His self-image, that of a strong heroic knight, crumbled like a child's sandcastle.   
From the castle wall he looked down the steep cliff onto Balius and could imagine for a moment that the cathedral with the blessing fire in its tower stood in his hometown Feather Springs.   
"Samson... come with me." Romy's voice was quiet but firm. He had no idea how long she had stood beside him, in her shapeless nightgown and dishevelled plait. She gently grabbed him by the arm and led him through the silent and dark castle; judging by the sounds of her footsteps she was barefoot.   
In her laboratory, she let a witch's light rise and brushed Sam over his unshaven cheek, with both disapproval and concern in her eyes. The other hand she shoved under his shirt and he shuddered as she magically palpated him. And he shuddered unwillingly again as her hand slid into his pants and she put a finger exactly where Henry had ripped him open violently a few hours earlier.   
He hissed and drilled his fingernails into her hips as the pain of magical healing burned in his guts.   
"Show me your arm," she said quietly when he had released her. Wordlessly he held out his arm to her and she took off the bandage he had changed conscientiously. To his surprise she began to gently circle his skin with her fingertips. And even bigger was his surprise when it didn't hurt.   
"What... what are you doing?" he wanted to know in a rough voice.   
"Heal you. However, in the way of the sorceresses."   
"Why?"   
"Because it doesn't hurt this way."   
"... why?"   
She didn't pause and didn't look up, but he felt her suppressed sighing. "Earth magic is closely related to witch magic, but not half as natural or instinctive for me. But it doesn't hurt, for whatever reason, and..." Now she stopped and searched for words. "You don't deserve to suffer the healing pain of this wound."   
And yet she had said at the beginning that he didn't deserve to be healed...   
But Sam remained silent, only observed Romy's face and tried to interpret it. When she was finished, she turned away without a word and left.   
"The word you are looking for is _sorry_," Sam said quietly and she paused in the doorway.   
From her posture he saw her struggling with herself, but the pride won and she remained silent.


	9. Even witches have a sore spot - sometimes more than one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ready to meet Romy's family?

"Do you know how to do a woman's hair?"  
Without opening his eyes, Sam frowned. "That's a pretty strange question."  
"No, it isn't," Romy gave back pointedly.  
"Why are you asking _me_ anyway?"  
"Because Jonas has his day off and today witches traditionally don't use magic."  
"He has his day off just when you're completely helpless without your magic?" Sam opened his eyes just in time to see Romy take a bowl of cold water and pour it out over his head.  
"Wah!" He shook himself.  
"Get out of the tub!"  
"But it was just five minutes! And after the servants must have struggled so hard with the warm water, we should appreciate it more, shouldn't we?"  
Romy snorted. "You didn't shave today."  
Now Sam snorted. "Yes, because a certain witch, whose name I don't want to mention right now, dragged me outside today before sunrise to collect herbs, to chase me around all day long and to tell me at the end that I stink like a polecat dipped in incense." He took a deep breath. "So now I'm going to bathe in peace." He took a dignified attitude and nodded to her. "Princess."  
The tone clearly said she was dismissed, but Romy just snorted. "Get out of the tub."  
He didn't move.  
"My mother is expecting us for dinner."  
The dignified posture evaporated. "Oh."  
"So wash yourself, shave and then help me with my hair. I'm too old to run around with my hair going wild."  
"Well, then you're old enough to make the hair yourself. Whereby a real princess would have a maid for something like this," Sam grumbled and got out of the tub.  
"I have Jonas."  
"Jonas isn't here."  
"I got you."  
Wrapped in a towel, Sam turned to her and saw her pouting. "I didn't say with any syllable that I knew anything about women's hair."  
"You have two younger sisters."  
"Good point..." He made a face. Romy reminded him at that moment very much of Ginevra, his little wildcat. Only with the difference that Ginevra apologized when she hurt him while playing. He sighed.  
"The last time I had to do this was a while ago."  
"I don't care, as long as I don't look like a scarecrow."  
Wisely, Sam kept his mouth shut.

~

Sam just laced his pants as he heard the soft knocking from the main room. Romy made an angry sound and came out from behind the paravent, plucking at something that to Sam seemed to be an undergarment.  
"That's no way to greet anyone at the door," he said and got a snap answer.  
"After all, I am dressed. You are half naked."  
"But the more important half is covered." And since he was closer to the door of the dressing room anyway, he hurried away on socks.  
"Oh. Isaac."  
"Um... Sam... yes..." Isaac turned red. "I hope I'm not disturbing."  
"No, not really." The answer didn't seem to convince Isaac. _Drugs and magic, Sam, he's under drugs and magic._ When they met on the training ground, he could easily forget that.  
"No, really. Queen Ruby invited me to dinner and Romy was not satisfied with my outfit." Sam rolled his eyes and Isaac grinned.  
"So you're really courting her..."  
Sam's stomach cramped. "Looks like..." What a terrible thought.  
"Well, whatever. The Weapon Master sent me to give this to the Princess. She asked for it." Isaac held up a black belt with a dagger stuck in an inconspicuous sheath.  
"Okay, I'll give it to her." Sam nodded to him and Isaac nodded back.  
"See you at dinner," Isaac said and indicated a bow. "I'm allowed to stand guard." He sounded proud of it and Sam had to force himself to smile - once Isaac had hated that.  
"See you later, then." He closed the door and gritted his teeth so as not to let Isaac's mental abuse spoil his mood - because he couldn't change anything anyway and maybe it wasn't the worst thing to be forced to be happy.

Romy had meanwhile put on her shoes and adjusted the corset as Sam stepped back into the dressing room. It had hooks at the front so that you didn't have to open the laces every time, so a woman could dress on her own. More or less at least.  
"Help me with the dress, will you?" There was no _please_ in the sentence, but it was much friendlier than usual. Sam sighed.  
"Sure..." He put the belt on a dresser and helped Romy to pull the dress of fine dark green linen over her head, while she cursed and scolded very unladylike.  
"Why do you wear a dress if you hate it so much?"  
"Because", she pulled her long wide sleeve over her shoulder, "it's the longest day of the year and we princesses have to present ourselves to the people." She made a face. "And this year I have to go to the city with them."  
"Why?"  
"Because I have a companion."  
"Ah."  
"How I hate it."  
"Should I suddenly get terribly ill after dinner?"  
"Hrmph. I doubt that's enough." Unhappily she looked at him - down at him, to be precise, because with her pumps she was suddenly taller than Sam. He shrugged and she sighed.  
"Get dressed..." Her dress was still hanging crooked, but he preferred to obey rather than point it out, and grabbed his shirt. It was dark green and embroidered with black leaves, the green counterparts of which were found on his black trousers. Fortunately, the black halfboots were very plain and he could have easily done without the heavy vest in the heat outside, but he didn't grumble, Romy already did enough on her own.

When he was dressed, Romy examined him and reached for his wrists. Murmuring, she tapped three times on his shackles, which stretched and formed arm splints, while the rings on his ankles grew to such an extent that it looked as if he was wearing fully armored boots.  
"Nice..."  
"The magic is already in the shackles," Romy said explaining, reaching for the belt Isaac had given Sam. She drew the dagger and held it under Sam's nose.  
"From now on, you are allowed to move through the castle armed."  
He nodded and was a little pleased that she showed such confidence in him. She pushed the dagger back and held out the belt to Sam who grabbed it. Before she let go, however, she said:  
"Push that thing up Henry's ass if he touches you again."  
Astonished, Sam looked at her and felt his cheeks getting warm.  
"Or between the ribs for all I care. As long as it hurts."  
"Okay..." He nodded hastily and she turned around.  
"Now chop-chop, my hair won't do itself."  
Sighing, he followed her and strapped the belt around his waist as he walked. "Where is the brush?"

"Watch it!" The fifth outcry. Sam gave Romy a pat on the shoulder with the brush.  
"Shut up or cut it off."  
She made an angry sound, but kept her mouth shut as Sam continued brushing. He was relieved; what worked for Ginevra also worked for Romy. He carefully combed her pale blonde hair and then frowned critically.  
"You're too tall."  
"Yes, thank you, I know that myself," she said stiffly and her shoulders tensed.  
"Yes, no, I mean, you have to sit somewhere..."  
She grumbled to herself, picked up a pile of light green hair bands from a side table, and then sat sideways in an armchair while Sam balanced on the armrest. She held the ribbons out to him.  
"Can you do anything with them?"  
"I think so..." Carefully he divided her hair into strands and began to twist a complicated braid - Ginevra's favorite hairstyle, which he had managed to do even half asleep at his best big-brother times.

~

"Somehow I get the feeling you cheated with magic."  
Sam turned his head when a young woman from another corridor approached them. Since Owen was at her side, he assumed it was Ellie.  
"Samson has surprisingly versatile talents," Romy gave back cool. Sam saw her hand twitch as if she wanted to touch her hair, as she had done in amazement when she had looked in the mirror.  
"Yes, I heard about that." Ellie smiled broadly. It was by no means friendly and Sam could clearly see where Henry got his from. He fell behind Romy as she walked beside Ellie through the corridors of the castle. Next to him was Owen, dressed up like Sam, and behind them went two fully armed knights and two squires in chain mail, one of them Isaac.  
Ellie, by the way, was the exact opposite of Romy: small, chubby and with deep black hair, the pale blue dress that swung around her full hips didn't suit her. Well, Romy was too thin and too tall, but at least the dark green flattered her. The two sisters seemed like day and night and in icy silence they reached the queen's private dining room.

Another young woman in dark blue was already waiting there; Sam had already seen the arrogant man at her side on the training field, but had not yet competed with him. Sir Erik looked quite noble in the dark blue of his witch and didn't even have a nod to give to Sam and Owen. But by the way Sam's gaze was also more attracted to Jocelyn. Her golden blonde, artfully attached hair shimmered in the sunlight that fell through the high windows, the sapphires on her neck made the pale skin appear royal, the richly decorated dress nestled promisingly to her curves. She was by no means chubby, just decidedly feminine, and made Romy look very girlish by comparison.  
"Dude..."  
Sam got a rib punch from Owen.  
"Hmm?"  
A second inconspicuous nudge.  
"Wrong witch."  
Sam turned his eyes away and looked at Owen, who couldn't decide whether to grin or look worried. But before Sam could ask any further questions, a large double door was opened.  
"Her Majesty Queen Ruby", a servant announced very simply and Ruby appeared in the door. She was- and that's what Sam said without having all the superstitious nonsense in mind- exactly what he imagined a witch-queen to be. Wild black curls piled up on her head and almost buried the golden tiara. Her lips were bright red, just like her pants, which were in high black boots. Over it she wore a floor-length frock coat with a tight bodice, whose heavy black velvet shimmered reddish in the light and was far too opulent for a hot summer's day. She smiled into the round as if she had prepared some insidious game and looked forward to the reactions.  
"Let's eat, girls. Then you can enjoy yourselves." Completely without ceremony.  
Sam was amazed.

And then Sam was pretty disappointed when dinner consisted of more vegetables than he could name.  
While the witches were talking about things he had no idea about, he tasted the baked cauliflower, carrots and thumbnail-sized onions in sweet cream sauce and something that looked delicious but tasted disgusting.  
He took a blob of a pumpkin-rice dish, a cabbage roll with chestnut filling and a small bowl of mashed potatoes containing so much garlic that he would probably sleep in the open for the next three weeks to aerate himself.  
Not nearly satisfied, he accepted the strong peppermint tea, scalded his tongue and then discovered discontentedly that the tea did not exactly harmonize with the aftertaste of garlic.  
The queen seemed to pierce her daughters with questions about any herbs, while the servants carried in small slim glasses, accompanied by slimmer little spoons. Curious, Sam started spooning and distorted his face. The taste of bitter lemons burned coldly into his mouth; Erik's face opposite Sam just twitched, Owen to Sam's left side made a sound as if he was in pain.  
And then the servants brought in a long queue for everyone a large plate, placed it and pulled the hoods off. Four-part resigned sighs sounded and Sam looked up confused from the fish dish, only to see absolute aversion in the faces of the witches. Only Erik seemed to be happy.  
"Why is there fish when obviously nobody likes it?" Sam asked quietly and carefully and got a warning kick from Owen under the table.  
"This is diamond fish from the Blessed Lake," Ruby explained with little enthusiasm. "It is a sacred family tradition to eat this fish today." She paused. "And we should be grateful for all the gifts of the Great Mother Earth." She said a surprisingly sensitive grace (which should have been at the beginning of the meal) and then they poked around with little enthusiasm in the fish and its omelette.  
"How can you eat that every day?" Romy muttered to Sam from the right. "And then for breakfast, too?"  
"Because I think it's delicious. And by the way, I don't ask you how you can only live on vegetables," Sam quietly gave back and got a disapproving look from her.  
"You should eat more meat," he added. "You are too thin."  
Ellie giggled maliciously, which made Sam realize uncomfortably that everyone had heard him. Romy blushed and Jocelyn smiled as if she secretly agreed with Sam, but nobody said anything and an unpleasant silence spread until the servants brought in fresh fruit and poured heavy sweet wine.

"You know, Samson, you look a lot like your father." Queen Ruby broke the silence and Sam almost choked on his wine. It wasn't nearly true, but Sam was educated well enough not to mention it.  
"You know my father?"  
Ruby nodded and played with her wine goblet. "Oh yes. During his bridal search he was here and courted me."  
Sam swallowed his amazement. "Obviously not very successful."  
Ruby giggled, which seemed inappropriate. "No..." Had Gerald known what otherwise would have awaited him, he would have been quite happy. On the other hand, Sam was also very happy that Ruby wasn't his mother.  
"When Jocelyn was born, we still negotiated an engagement contract between you for a while."  
Sam looked from Ruby to Jocelyn, who in turn looked deeply surprised at her mother. He first noticed that his mouth was open when Romy pressed a finger against his chin to close it.  
"Wouldn't that have interrupted the search-for-a-bride tradition?" Jocelyn asked carefully and Ruby bowed her head.  
"Some traditions are outdated. Though I think Romy appreciates that Samson found us this way."  
Romy once again blushed deeply. "You didn't have to throw him at my feet so obviously."  
"You've been looking for a suitable man for over a year, sweetheart," Ruby returned smiling and it began to dawn on Sam that he had been deliberately told about the allegedly kidnapped princess.  
"I would have found one myself."  
"Sure," Ellie mumbled condescendingly into her goblet.  
"Unlike you, I want to do it right the _first_ time."  
"Are you afraid to break your pretty prince?"  
"At least he's prettier than _your_ prince."  
"He is weak."  
"And Henry is a beast!"  
"That's exactly why I got him..." Ellie smiled maliciously, Romy snorted, Ruby smiled amusedly and Jocelyn shook her head resignedly. Sam looked at her. She seemed much more mature than even her mother and held herself dignified while sipping her wine. Over the goblet she gave Sam a narrow smile and Sam felt himself blushing.  
She could have been his bride...

~

"Stop staring at my sister!"  
"I'm not staring."  
"Of course you do."  
"I don't."  
"Yes, you do."  
"No. You're jealous."  
"I'm not jealous!"  
"Of course you are."  
"I'm not."  
"Yes."  
"No. But you're staring."  
"If you're not jealous, I'm not staring either." Sam and Romy stepped next to each other after Jocelyn and Erik on the castle forecourt, where a carriage waited for the princesses and three horses for the men. Angry, Romy left Sam standing and he joined Hector with a sigh.  
"Hello, Hector." He patted his nose and the gelding snorted before nudging Sam against the chest. "I missed you." A second nudge.  
"Come on..." Owen said and punched Sam on the shoulder. They mounted up and followed the carriage from the castle grounds while Sam's shackles became unpleasantly cold for a moment.

The way led directly to the steep cliff, a bit along there and then an artificially stacked winding ramp down into the plain. In front of the carriage four knights rode, Erik rode beside them, behind Sam and Owen followed two more knights and a handful of squires.  
They were all covered with flowers as they reached the crowd standing outside the city, cheering wildly. Jocelyn waved benevolently as Romy sank a little. Sam looked at the faces of the people and discovered nothing but honest joy in them.  
"Is your family that popular as well?" Owen asked, breaking the silence.  
"Yes," Sam said and grinned crookedly. "My father introduced a few tax changes. In the end, everyone pays the same, but the distribution is different and hardly anyone notices."  
"One would have to be king..." Owen mumbled and flinched when a rose hit his ear. Sam's grin disappeared.  
"I doubt in the meantime that I will ever take up my inheritance."  
"Then we should enjoy the evening, shouldn't we?" Owen's smile was a little cramped. "Who knows how many we still have..."

~

Romy clung to Sam's arm as if someone wanted to separate the two by force. Which definitely wasn't the case, because they just walked from the big square in front of the cathedral through the city to the market place, where the celebrations took place. Her fingernails were painfully piercing his hand and Sam could have sworn that she was trembling. Jocelyn and Erik walked in front of them, Jocelyn waving, taking flowers and giving air kisses from time to time - Sam would have liked to get such an air kiss, but on the other hand the sight she offered was also quite nice.  
"What's the matter?" he nevertheless asked Romy, who walked stiffly beside him.  
"Too many people," she whispered tensely. Sam raised a brow.  
"You're afraid of crowds?"  
She nodded barely.  
"You spend too much time in your laboratory. Or the library. Or in the woods."  
"Guess why..." she murmured and Sam sighed.  
"Take Jocelyn as your role model. She is an example of dignity and- ow!" She had pinched him in the hand.  
"Jocelyn is the heiress," Romy hissed. "She must be dignified."  
"Yes and you are a princess and her substitute."  
"Shut up."  
"Why? Just smile a little and wave..." He promptly put on a radiant smile and winked at a girl who, like so many others, stood by the roadside throwing petals. She screamed audibly over the general noise and blushed with a hand in front of her mouth. Then he took a pink freesia from another girl and held it out to Romy with another wink.  
"Do you know what freesia stands for?" she asked critically as she grabbed the flower.  
"Yes. But we're here in public, so for now I don't care." Freesias stood for innocence and tenderness, they were a shy expression and especially popular with the young nobles - they were more or less a request for holding hands and perhaps a kiss. She sighed, turned the flower between her fingers and then looked at him.  
"What am I going to do with you?"  
"Do you want a suitable public answer or an honest one?"  
"Since we are already in public..."  
"Hmm." Sam looked at her and grinned cheekily. "Well, I guess the public expects you to hold my hand, smile at me shyly and kiss me. On the cheek of course, we don't want to exaggerate."  
"Idiot." Nevertheless she blushed.  
"Why idiot?", he wanted to know. "We give the impression as if I were courting you, don't we? And now don't tell me the impression is not wanted."  
She took a breath, but then looked away. And then her fingernails again bored into his hand when she saw the marketplace overflowing with people.  
"Too many people!" Her voice was almost a wheeze. "Much too many people!" She twitched as if she wanted to turn around and run away and Sam quickly released his hand from hers to put his arm around her.  
"The people love you, they don't hurt you."  
She made a suffocated sound and Sam almost had to force her to move on.  
"Come on, I'm with you."  
There was a platform on which musicians played, and one on which there were tables for the princesses and their companions. At the edge of the market square, food stands were set up and the smell of roast meat overlaid the stench of a city this size. Surrounded by knights and squires, they made their way through the crowd to the pedestal and took a seat. Romy trembled on and on and as they sat, she drilled her fingernails into Sam's thighs, which relieved his hand, but was not much more pleasant either.  
Until the sun would set, it would still take two hours, at least...

~

Ellie and Owen danced in the middle of the crowd, Jocelyn had brought one of the violinists to them for a while and Romy seemed to be permanently on the verge of a real panic attack. Sam would have loved to dance as well, but instead had to be content with the wine, because he could do without Romy's devastating look at this question.  
Breathing heavily, Owen dropped onto the bench next to him and took the wine cup from his hand.  
"It would be more fun if it wasn't Ellie," he muttered and Sam raised a brow.  
"What am I supposed to say?"  
"You should above all stop drinking," Owen gave back. "Otherwise, you'll fall into Jocelyn's neckline after the next cup but one."  
"Not true at all!"  
Owen gave him a meaningful look. "Her neckline is admittedly quite tempting, but Sam..."  
Romy again drilled her fingernails into Sam's thighs, a little too high, and he twitched.  
"Hm?" he turned to Owen, but he preferred not to finish his sentence, but to wave for more wine. Sam sighed. Then he turned back to Romy, who cuddled up to him in search of protection.  
"It's all right," he said for the ten thousandth time. "I'm with you."  
"I know." She sounded a little breathless.  
"You know that you could kill everyone here in less than two minutes if you just wanted to, right?"  
"Why would I do that?" She frowned.  
"Then there are fewer people here. And you wouldn't have to be afraid anymore."  
Her frown deepened. "There is something to it," she finally admitted. "But I cannot simply kill my people."  
"Then swallow your fear."  
She made a face. He shifted a little his weight on the uncomfortable bench and her hand twitched.  
"You're not leaving, are you?" she asked with a shrill undertone.  
"No," he said and gave her a faint smile. "No, I will stay here."  
He missed Ginevra. He had never had such a bond with Sarah-Jane, but the little wildcat had stolen his fraternal heart and had looked at him just as helplessly when it stormed. Looking up into the sky, where the sun finally approached the horizon, he wondered for a moment if she was happy with Gavin up north.  
He was hoping for it very much.

The bells of the cathedral struck midnight, just as the first rockets of the fireworks exploded. Almost immediately, all the other church bells in the city started ringing and the deafening noise was filled with cheers. The longest day of the year was over.  
Sam saw Jocelyn murmuring something to Erik and he nodded with a pinched smile before putting an arm around her. Was Erik here of his own free will? Actually, he didn't make the impression, but behind his blasé façade could hide anything.  
On Sam's side, Romy trembled, although there were only a few servants serving the traditional tartlets. Sam was already dreading going back through the crowds to the cathedral square, where the carriage and the horses were waiting - but rather on behalf of Romy, because he actually had a little pity.

But he hadn't expected that he would end up with the princess in his arms and carry her.  
"What a tragedy," he heard Ellie mocking next to him. Romy trembled and pressed her face into Sam's crook of the neck.  
"At least," he said to Ellie, because he felt he had to defend his witch, "she's light enough for this." He saw Owen grinning suppressed and Ellie distorted the face offended. He didn't want to repeat that he thought Romy was much too light for her height.  
"Thank you," Romy whispered a little later.  
"Hmm?" Sam made questioning because he thought he had misheard. But she didn't repeat herself and gave no explanation either, for which they reached the carriage.  
"Come on, Romy, we're going home," Jocelyn said gently and put a hand on her sister's arm. Carefully Sam put her down and she stood there wavering for a moment before one of the knights helped her into the carriage.  
"Thank you, Samson," Jocelyn said after a sigh and gave Sam a grateful smile.  
"You're welcome." He smiled back and got a friendly nod.  
His stomach fluttered.


	10. If your survival depends on someone, you shouldn't mess with said one

"Shields suck."   
"Shields can save your life."   
"With a two-handed, I've got a bigger range, so fuck you."   
"I quote: such a sword arm is faster off than you think. And you can also attach a shield to your arm stump."   
"Fuck you."   
"Shield up."   
"Sam's right, you know, Owen?" Franz interfered when Owen reluctantly lifted the shield because Sam at the same time put the heavy two-handed sword in attack position.   
"As if you were the most competent here to judge." Henry snorted amusedly. If he was in a good mood, like this afternoon, he was quite bearable.   
"I'm just saying," Franz began with audible eye rolling, while Sam attacked, "that Sam was right. Leading a two-handed with only one hand is not-"   
"Block!", Henry shouted in between and Sam lifted the weapon to block.   
"Whew!"   
Owen put far too much weight and momentum into his attack. He noticed that himself when he stumbled into Sam.   
"You look like the worst rookies," Franz remarked and Henry said again:   
"Not your field of competence."   
"I can handle a sword very well."   
"Oh, even those made of steel?"   
"Could you keep your mouth shut?" Sam intervened.   
"It's not quiet on the battlefield either," Owen said and attacked again.   
"No, but," Sam parried and riposted, "fighting noise is less annoying than their babbling."   
"I'll give you some babble right away," Franz said outraged.   
"Sure..."   
"The only one you can make babble is Owen," Henry remarked mockingly. "If you blow him."   
Owen rolled his eyes and Sam grinned. Slowly he got used to the dirty vocabulary and also to the thought that the three went their own way to come to terms with the situation. He didn't have to join in, thanks to the Great Mother.   
Franz and Henry squabbled while Sam and Owen continued to carefully exchange attacks until Sam knocked the sword out of Owen's hand.   
"Hey!"   
"I won."   
"Yeah, and my wrist's screwed." Owen had dropped the shield and clasped his wrist.   
"Ask Ellie if she'll heal you."   
"Do I have a choice?"   
"Probably not." Sam shrugged. He liked Owen, but during training everyone had to see that he was making progress himself. Somewhere behind them the other knights and guards greeted.   
"Princess."   
"Your Highnesses."   
"Continue," Jocelyn said and Sam turned around. To his surprise, there were all three of them and both Jocelyn and Romy held a large shield in their hands. Since the two did not look as if they wanted to become shield maids, it meant only one thing: Sam would have to compete officially against Erik.   
He swallowed. After they had met each other at the dinner, he had watched the older knight and had to find out that he was damn good. And even if Sam's self-confidence hadn't come off a scratch or two anyway and his arms and shoulders wouldn't be tingling from Romy's magic in the morning, he doubted he could win.

Erik came from the other side of the training ground and frowned irritated.   
"This is going to be fun," Henry remarked and got a pat on the back of the head from Owen.   
"It won't," Franz said and sounded worried. Sam gave him a quick glance and the other prince shook his head gently.   
"Sir Erik is an outstanding fighter. And a few years of experience richer."   
"Thank you, Franz, that's exactly what I needed."   
Romy waved him towards her and came a few steps closer.   
"Ellie tells anyone who doesn't want to hear it that you're weak and Jocelyn wants to prove that her knight is the better one," she said quietly and Sam raised a brow.   
"He _is_ better."   
"Says who?"   
"Common sense. The guy beat everyone except Commander Richard."   
"Then be the second exception."   
"Can't you fight your little power games on your own?" Unwillingly Sam looked at her and she frowned discontentedly before tapping his armored chest.   
"I don't really like having to make a mark through a man either, but I certainly won't magically compete with Jocelyn. I'm quite attached to my life."   
"She would kill you?" Sam asked surprised and Romy nodded.   
"She's stronger than me, but she should also see it as an attack on her position as heiress. And she's already killed one of us, so she won't have any scruples."   
"But she-" Sam couldn't finish his question because Jocelyn shouted:   
"Romy, come on."   
"Maybe she has to whisper courage into him first," Ellie giggled, who stood a little apart and was now flanked by Henry. Brusque Romy pressed the shield into Sam's hand.   
"Knights defend their lady's honor, don't they?"   
"Um..." Sam didn't swear to her, and he didn't intend to.   
"Then do it!" With long steps she joined Jocelyn, while two squires came running and handed swords to Erik and Sam. They were sharp.   
"Okay..." Sam muttered to himself and rolled his shoulders.

It was a duel and they had a habit of starting rather sluggishly. They tried to judge the opponent, to find a tactic and to identify possible weak points. It was always a walk on the tightrope to find the balance between intuition and thinking, because those who thought too much made mistakes and those who relied on intuition were taken by surprise.   
The difference in height between Erik and Sam was not significant, but Sam quickly realized that Erik had a lot of strength in his broad shoulders and used it as well - Sam's shield arm pulsated and he heard his instructor's voice say that he was working too much with the shield, but on the other hand he couldn't risk parrying with the sword and getting it knocked out of his hand.   
So as he was more on the defensive, his thoughts turned to Erik's patterns of movement. The older knight used his strength, turning his upper body a lot to increase swing and range- if Sam had managed to make a proper counterattack, he might have been able to work his way past Erik's shield.

Sam breathed heavily, the pulsation in his arm blunted, but that wasn't better, quite the opposite. He wouldn't hold on that defensively much longer and suddenly he took a step forward, which caused Erik to take a quick step backwards and made Sam grin idiotically.   
Erik made cross steps - something you normally kick out of squires as fast as possible. Sam went over to attacking, deliberately forced Erik to back down and let the shield sink a little. When Erik discovered a gap and went ahead, Sam tore the shield up again and forward before Erik hit it, and struck himself before Erik - visibly surprised - could react.   
Erik stumbled over his own feet and Sam used the opportunity to really make him fall. After all, Erik had learned to fall with dignity, because he supported himself with the shield and made it look as if he was surrendering. To officially end the fight, Sam pressed the tip of his sword against his chin for a moment, then stepped back panting and glanced at the three witches.   
Romy seemed very nervous but pleased, Ellie a little disappointed and Jocelyn smiled at him.   
"A good fight."   
Sam grinned stupidly while Jocelyn turned to Romy:   
"I think you made a good choice." Both Romy and Ellie snorted, but Sam bowed as well as he could in the rigid armour. Jocelyn still nodded at him with a smile and the warmth in his cheeks no longer came just from the fight. Romy said something quietly while Sam turned around because Owen and Franz had approached behind him and Jocelyn snorted.   
"I'm not flirting, I'm smiling. If you want him to jerk off for _you_, you should change something. Be nicer for example". With Jocelyn's tone Sam froze, the happy grin on the faces of Franz and Owen died. Erik had disappeared from Sam's field of vision, but at the crunch of the armour Sam heard that he also stopped.   
"How I deal with my knight is my business," Romy explained miffed.   
"Well, then you don't need to be surprised if he smiles at some other girl."   
Sam's face was burning.   
"You know, the bond plays a decisive role in how the ritual goes," Ellie now remarked smugly. "I thought you wanted to keep him."   
"I- why aren't you nicer to your chosen ones though?"   
"Who says I want to keep them?"   
Franz and Owen suddenly became pale.   
"What Ellie's trying to say-"   
"I know what Ellie's trying to say!" Romy snapped and Sam felt magic surge.   
"Then act accordingly! Not that I have anything against a second knight..."   
Romy hissed in response and Sam felt it running cold down his back. The whole thing sounded very tempting, but something dangerous resonated in Jocelyn's voice. He looked at Franz and Owen, but they stared at what was happening behind Sam and so he turned around.   
Jocelyn smiled, dignified and perhaps a little condescending.   
Ellie smiled, too, albeit rather sneakily.   
Romy was pale and had red spots on her cheeks. "Samson is my knight and he has beaten yours. He is mine."   
Behind the words there was a touch of magic plucking at Sam.   
"I recognize you as the future queen, but Samson is mine."   
The plucking became a pulling.   
"He belongs to me!"   
The magic tore at Sam and he fell on one knee. He raised his head and saw Romy storm away. Ellie quivered as if she had to suppress a laugh, while Jocelyn- all the grown-up big sister- sighed and looked after her. Sam got up and shuddered because magic was still flickering over his skin.   
"You fought well," Jocelyn said and nodded to him. "I acknowledge Romy's claim to possession."   
Sam nodded back.   
"And you gave Erik something to think about."   
Sam turned his head to Erik, who bowed his head in agreement.   
"Cross steps," Sam said quietly.   
"I know. I just can't break it." Erik nodded and smiled, although it seemed to be quite forced.   
Jocelyn tilted her head to greet and left, followed by Erik and Ellie. Henry hesitated for a moment, but then decided to stay.

"That," Franz said very quietly, "was disturbing."   
"To whom are you telling?" Sam replied just as quietly and suppressed a shiver.   
"Romy is jealous," Owen said a little louder and with a warning undertone. "I told you to not let Jocelyn's boobs twist your head."   
"Otherwise your head is off," Henry added. He seemed serious and not at all gloating.   
"What do you think, how good are our chances of survival?" Franz wanted to know and made a face.   
"For Sam? Pretty bad," Owen said darkly and Sam, who didn't want to take it, returned:   
"Whoever Ellie chooses dies."   
They looked at each other and in spite of the heat of the afternoon they all shivered.

~

"Do you think I'm cruel?" Romy's voice came out of the lab just as Sam stepped back into her apartment and closed the door behind him. Slowly he crossed the main room and stopped in the door to the lab.   
"The ritual is obviously cruel. And Ellie is _very_ obviously cruel." He frowned, for Romy knelt on the floor, surrounded by a sea of pages of all sorts of magical stuff. "But you? Well, at least you haven't shown me your cruel side yet." He shrugged although she didn't see it. She sighed.   
"The ritual has many ways, Samson. And I'm trying to find the right one." She rubbed her eyes. "What do you know about the ritual?"   
"It's a symbol of maturity and gives you your true power."   
She nodded thoughtfully. "It forms our magic." With a fingertip she tapped on a chart and slowly Sam came closer before hesitatingly squatting next to her.   
"The ritual consists of several steps for which you can choose from a number of options. This results in... damn many paths a witch can follow, but there are some pre-drawn ones that are under certain aspects."   
"What are these aspects?" Sam asked quietly.   
"Knowledge. Strength. Might. Love. Fear. Such things. Of course, you can just choose what you like best, and most people do." She sighed and narrowed her eyebrows unhappily.   
"However, Ellie is right... The bond between witch and knight is extremely important in some places." A little lost in thought, she stroked some of the tables, schematics and drawings while Sam waited patiently. If he was to learn anything about the ritual, he would certainly not push her or even annoy her about it.   
"Ellie will probably sacrifice her knight, so the bond doesn't matter. I want you to survive, so it definitivly matters."   
"Why do you want me to survive? I mean, being sacrificed is not my goal of life at all, but..." his voice got lost when Romy looked at him.   
"You're strong."   
"Yeah," he said stretched, "you already mentioned it."   
She shook her head weakly, but it didn't seem negating. "If you survive..." She struggled with herself and looked away.   
"I think there is a way to make you even stronger. Together we would be stronger than Jocelyn and Erik and-"   
"You want to compete against them and become queen?"   
Romy's gaze twitched up. "May the Great Mother Earth prevent me from ever becoming queen!"   
Sam looked at her questioningly.   
"No. But then she knows that I could defeat her, and she will take it seriously if I acknowledge her."   
"But you said she is stronger than you."   
"Yes. For now. After our rituals it may look different. But you are definitely stronger than Erik. I don't want to threaten them, but I don't want to have to fear for my life either."   
They looked at each other, thoughtfully, silently.

As a woman, Jocelyn was what Sam dreamed of (and not only figuratively, but literally), but as a witch she had other facets.   
"She killed Lyandra," Romy finally said very quietly. "Our sister. The true heiress."   
"Why?"   
"Because Lyandra was weak. A weak witch makes a weak queen. And Jocelyn didn't want to let that happen. So she killed Lyandra after her ritual."   
"Are you afraid of her?" he wanted to know carefully.   
"No, not really." Romy shook her head. "She knows that I am not interested in the crown. It's a matter of principle."   
Sam nodded, although he wasn't quite sure that he understood all this correctly. "I shall survive so that you may survive."   
She nodded. Again they looked at each other and he saw the concern in her face. But she lowered her eyes to the chaos and stroked her fingers across the pages again.   
"For me it's about knowledge and magic, not real might."   
"Will you therefore follow the path of knowledge?" Sam hoped that at least he had understood that correctly.   
"No. Well, maybe, but not completely. This would require a teacher-student relationship between us." She shook her head. "There's still time before I have to decide."   
"Time to develop the bond between us?"   
Slowly she lifted her eyes. "I need you, Samson, as my knight. And you need me as your witch. If we want to survive, we have to work together."   
"I felt that most of the time we would get along quite well...", Sam remarked, and because the subject made him a little uneasy, he added: "By the way, I'm more than just your knight. I'll do your hair, take care of your herbs, clean up after you..."   
She looked at him angrily. "Just because you're supposed to survive doesn't mean I have to make the ritual pleasant for you."   
He smiled, although the comment gave him goose bumps. "You promised not to be cruel."   
"I didn't," she said impudently. "Stop staring at Jocelyn. Then I'm nice."   
"You've got the cart before the horse."   
Although she had already turned away, Sam saw her blush. "You depend on me."   
"And you need me. It's called a standoff."   
"We could make it a win-win." Still with red cheeks she looked at him.   
"And how?"   
"To follow a certain aspect grants more power. The easiest thing would be to really build a teacher-student relationship."   
"You can't teach me magic."   
"No, but runes, witch language, herbal knowledge. And you teach me how to fight." She hesitated. "Or to govern, just in case."   
Amazed, he looked at her. Somewhere in the back of his head, a soft little voice warned him that Romy wasn't completely honest with him, but without her he could only lose.   
He held out his hand to her. "Deal."


	11. There is a significant difference between learning and teaching

"If you want to rule a country, you must know it. Look at the map and tell me what you notice."   
"Hmm. Darkmoore is almost square."   
"Right. What else?"   
"Darkmoore is pretty big."   
"Right. I don't have the numbers in mind, but after Rockvalley, it's the largest of the Eastern Kingdoms."   
"Even bigger than Whitehill?" Surprised, Romy looked at Sam who nodded. They were standing in front of a huge map of the Eastern Kingdoms, painted on the wall of one of the libraries.   
"So why does Whitehill have almost twice as many inhabitants?" Sam wanted to know and Romy raised a brow.   
"How should I know?"   
"The map tells you."   
"The map says nothing at all."   
"Oh yes. You know, I've learned geography with so-called silent maps, there's nothing there at all, except for the border."   
"Oh."   
"Well. What does the map tell you about Darkmoore?"   
Romy made a helpless "pfff" and shrugged, Sam sighed.   
"A quarter of the country consists of swamps and moors, nobody can live there."   
"Oh. Yes." She blushed.   
"And the Chalk Plains are quite barren." He pointed to a region in the southeast that stretched beyond Darkmoore to Ringbay. "That means Darkmoore is big, but even if you subtract the uninhabitable part, it doesn't have enough fertile land for so many people."   
Thoughtfully, she looked at the map and took two steps back.   
"But how do you get your people through the winter? These are forests, aren't they? Whitehill has so few of them. Where do you get all that wood to heat?"   
Sam smiled. "Trade agreements with Threehills, for example."   
He got a questioning look.   
"Threehills consists of a lot of rocky land. Great pastures, without question. And they have some very robust cereals and vegetables. But they lack quantity, variety, fruit. So we trade certain foods cheaply against wood from the fast-growing Lakrim trees. That, by the way, dries quickly and well and burns slowly and efficiently."   
Romys gaze was priceless.   
"And now that Ginevra is married to Crown Prince Gavin, nothing will change about these agreements for decades to come, at least not to the negative."   
"Such trade agreements are tied to marriages?"   
"No, not really. But such links make it more difficult to dissolve agreements or easier to negotiate new ones." Sam shrugged. "Admittedly, all this marriage stuff is quite complicated, but actually a chapter on its own."   
"But theoretically..." Romy started and although she blushed, Sam saw how it was working in her head, "but theoretically... I mean, if Ellie would marry Franz and we two... then Darkmoore would have connections to the other countries again, wouldn't it?"   
"Theoretically." The thought made him uncomfortable, but in theory... well, the truth was that Gerald would happily jump at such an opportunity (probably he hadn't courted Ruby without reason so many years ago).   
"What advantages would there be?" Romy wanted to know and put her head tilted.   
"Since you would eventually become queen at my side," Sam didn't like the idea, but very obviously Romy didn't as well, "Whitehill would certainly make some exclusive deals with Darkmoore. Food against blackwood, for example."   
"What's so exciting about blackwood?"   
Sam shrugged. "Well, apart from being a sacred tree of the Great Mother, it hardly grows anywhere, mostly in small protected stands. And for sacral purposes or for the nobles as building material blackwood is very much in demand."   
"Oh."   
A short silence arose, in which Romy very obviously thought and Sam gave her the time. It was a complicated subject, extensive and with many traps and pitfalls.   
"I'm not even sure what mother actually does, but what is a queen for you?" she wanted to know then.   
"That depends quite on it. In Whitehill, but also in other countries, the first-born child inherits - no matter if boy or girl. If I had an older sister, she would become a queen. Her husband would be king, but without government power."   
"Like a prince consort for us."   
"Right. In this case it is only a title, although we follow patriarchal structures. But a queen like my wife... well. She is expected to be representative, a good wife and mother." Sam shrugged. "My mother is... um... a strong woman. Smart and stubborn and charismatic. She's an important advisor to my father." And then he added: "So in your case you could still be a witch without worrying."   
She nodded absent-mindedly and he added: "But actually you should know all about it."   
"I'm a witch."   
"You're a princess."   
"Mother made Lyandra and Jocelyn princesses, but she took my wishes and talents into account and just let me be a witch."   
"And Ellie does what she wants, pretty clear. But nevertheless..."   
She shrugged and Sam sighed softly. And then he talked about the structures of a government, from the smallest village to the king and his ministers, he talked about taxes and economics, about education and medical care, about foreign policy and his own lords.

When he was finished hours later, Romy's only comment was:   
"I don't want to be queen."   
Sam nodded barely, hoarse and with a dry mouth, and thought to himself: _How good that I don't want to marry you__..._

~

"When exactly did I agree to let you stab me?" Sam gasped. Breathing felt wrong, but the dagger, which was stuck between his ribs to the limit, had some part in that.   
"You said I had to be able to handle a dagger," Romy returned dryly.   
"Yes but-"   
"You didn't ask me what I could do already."   
"Oh..." He kept gasping and trying to ignore the pain. Romy just stood there, while he pressed a hand below the dagger against the ribs.   
"Jonas used to agree."   
"Great...", Sam choked out and licked his lips. He tasted blood and spat out. If Romy intended to let him fidget until he asked for a cure, he would have to swallow his pride pretty soon. He looked at her and spat blood again.   
"I knew you were a masochist," she sighed and stepped up to him to pull the dagger out of his side with a jerk. Screaming, he grabbed her wrist, but she already put the other hand on the severely bleeding wound and sent magic into it.   
"Oh damn..." He gasped and squinted his eyes shut as the healing pain burned hot.   
"Be glad that I don't intend to learn swordplay," she mumbled and withdrew her bloody hand.   
"Hmm." He grunted in agreement and blinked at her. And then made outraged "hey!" as she wiped both dagger and hand off his shirt.   
"It' s ruined anyway," she remarked dryly.   
"Yes, but I'm not a rag!" He looked at her with an angry frown and she shrugged.   
"For me you are everything."   
That elicited a sigh from him. "How I would like to hear such a sentence from a woman who truly loves me..."   
Romy snorted, her cheeks slightly flushed. "For now, you'll have to make do with me."   
"Looks like it. What a pity."   
"Don't overdo it."   
"How could I dare?"   
"Samson..."   
"Yes, Princess?" Innocent, he looked at her.   
"Shut up."   
"Of course, princess."   
She rolled her eyes, shook her head and left him standing bloody on the edge of the training field.   
"Great Mother, where did I end up here?" Sam muttered to himself and also went back to the castle, but much more slowly. He still spat bloody saliva and swayed a little. He had already had an extensive training round with a few knights behind him, had endured Romy's magic and now this.   
"Bitch," he murmured and pressed his hand on the ribs, although there certainly was nothing more to be seen than rosy skin.   
As he walked up the stairs to the wide entrance, he stumbled and was caught by a hand on his arm.   
"Nice and slow."   
After the sunshine outside, Sam blinked into the gloomy shadow of the castle, but he had recognized the voice.   
"Jocelyn..." Where she held him, his skin was tingling. With a mischievous smile she nodded to him and let him go, her fingers brushing his arm in a not very innocent way. His face was blushing and she smiled a little wider before stepping past him on the training ground. For a moment he looked after her, then he pulled himself together and turned away.

Sam simply dropped the bloodstained and sweaty clothes to the floor before washing thoroughly; Romy had meanwhile complained several times that he stank (each time pulling up something different that had apparently been dipped in incense). While soapy hands glided over wet skin, Jocelyn came back to his mind and her smile, because she knew exactly what was going on in Sam's head.   
Did she feel flattered?   
Did she think of what could have happened if the engagement contract had come about?   
Because Sam often thought about it, also because Romy had said that Jocelyn had killed her older sister. Such contracts were not made between heirs. But if there had been such a contract, would Jocelyn have killed Lyandra anyway? Or would they have been married already?   
Once again he imagined the wedding night, rich in detail, although he had no idea of such things.

His hand moved in a fast rhythm and he felt the end coming.   
"Is everything o-oh!" Romy's voice suddenly ripped him out of his fantasy and he opened his eyes. However, he flinched in surprise and that was the deciding factor.   
"Ingh..." was all he got out while it shot out of him and Romy screamed and put a hand to her mouth. He wasn't finished yet, when she had turned around and was out the door. Breathing heavily and trembling, he looked after her as the orgasm ebbed faster than usual due to the interruption.   
He hoped- he prayed- that she wouldn't want to talk about it. Or at least not immediately. The mere fact that she had "caught" him was embarrassing, and that he had been thinking of her sister felt strangely wrong.   
But on the other hand... Jocelyn hadn't stabbed him in the ribs with a dagger.

~

"What the...?"   
Romy dropped a thick book in front of Sam on the desk where he was plucking tiny flowers from stems.   
"Your new textbook."   
"Huh?"   
She nodded to the book and hesitantly he opened it somewhere. On the left side a plant was shown in a lot of details, the right side was empty. And the plant had neither a name nor any inscriptions.   
"Oh..." he said ominously.   
"Oh." Romy repeated, but very decisively. "This is a textbook for young witches. We'll learn the herbs and at the same time the runes, I'll save you the witch language for now."   
"How merciful," he muttered and she nodded.   
"Yes, it is." She nodded to the book again. "First page. You should know the plant."   
He opened the first page and nodded. "Dandelion."   
"What do you use dandelion for?"   
"Oh... uh... poorer people use the buds as a substitute for capers." Under her disapproving gaze, he felt very uncomfortable. "I don't like capers," it slipped out of him.   
"Neither do I."   
That in turn made him grin.   
"Dandelion has a detoxifying and digestive effect. Sensitive people react with an increased urge to urinate."   
"O-okay..."   
"Here." She pulled something from a compartment and held it up to him; it was a simple translation table for runes, finely-cleanly written on sturdy paper.   
"Thank you..."   
Then she handed him a pencil and a thin sheet. "You should always make a note before you ruin the book. And for starters, show me what you're fabricating."   
"Yes, Romy." Under her strict gaze, he scribbled the word _dandelion_ in runes on the sheet.   
"That's the same letter, at least they should look alike."   
"Oh... well... I've never painted runes before."   
"Then write down what I told you and translate it. We'll work on the finishing touches later."   
"Okay..."   
"Do you know the plant you just worked with?"   
"Hmm? No, I don't think so."   
"As a knight, you should."   
"Oh yeah? I mean, well... it grows everywhere." A little torn back and forth between the conversation and the task of taking notes, he looked up.   
"That's yarrow, also known as soldier's herb, because- as you said- it grows everywhere and is mainly used for wound healing. It is part of many moontime teas."   
"Ah. Oh." He hastily scribbled this information down and jerked when Romy dropped another book next to him.   
"Your very personal book for recipes and instructions. I'll help you with the layout later."   
"Um..." For his skeptical look he got a strict one in return. "Okay..."   
"Knowledge for knowledge," Romy said, and he nodded.   
"Knowledge for knowledge."

~

"Maybe," Owen said, and even that one word sounded like a well-intentioned advice with a very serious background, "you shouldn't fumble around on her so much."   
"I'm not fumbling at all!"   
"Yes. That was a lot more physical contact than necessary."   
"It's not true at all."   
"Sam... it's just good advice... Take the eyes out of Jocelyn's neckline and the hands off Romy's hips."   
"I..." Somewhere between outraged and embarrassed Sam was missing the words.   
As a punishment for fooling around, they had both been given the task of unloading the food carts and bringing them to the pantry by the commander. Together they lifted a crate from the cart and placed it on a sack truck.   
"You probably need it a lot, but that's why you should-"   
"Hey, I don't need it at all!"   
"Getting rid of magic, all right, but I mean a real woman too."   
"Owen..."   
"Yeah, yeah... but a hand's no substitute. At least not your own."   
Sam snorted and grabbed the sack truck after they had pushed a second crate onto the first one.   
"That was an invitation, you idiot."   
Irritated, he looked up. "What?"   
The redhead almost looked at him pitifully. "You could spend a night with us, you know? You don't have to do anything you don't want, just... for a little company, you know?"   
Sam didn't answer, but lowered his gaze. Silently he drove the sack truck into the pantry, where two kitchen boys pulled down the crates before he went back with the empty truck.   
"Why on earth does Romy even try archery?" Owen curiously wanted to know and handed Sam a much smaller box from above.   
"To look beyond her own nose of magical fighting techniques," Sam said and forced himself to a grin that turned more into a grimace, but Owen laughed quietly.   
"Your or her idea?"   
Sam shrugged. "Both our idea, so to speak. She initiates me into the sacred knowledge of medicinal herbs."   
"Oho!" Owen winked at him.   
"What, oho?"   
"She's jealous, dude. So maybe she wants to be fumbled."   
"Romy?" Unbelieving, Sam snorted and took a third box. "Sometimes I get the impression she has no idea why there is any difference between a man and a woman."   
Owen laughed so much that he almost fell off the cart and accidentally knocked over a bag that Sam could barely catch.   
"Maybe," Owen gasped then, "you should initiate her into the sacred knowledge of sexuality."   
Sam turned bright red. "Absolutely not!" He was more than a little happy that the incident in the bathroom a few days ago was hushed up.   
"Why not? Because you have no clue yourself?" Owen's giggling ebbed away and Sam searched for words. "Don't worry, we'll change that."   
"A little hurry out there!" The words of one of the chefs, disapproving of the lack of progress of the two, ended the discussion.   
But Sam knew Owen well enough to know that he meant everything he said.


	12. You can share a lot with friends, including intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some precious boy-time...

It was hot. It was so damn hot in Romy's room and Sam longed for the room where he had spent the first night with the other three in this huge manor house. It had been cool and although Henry had been working on Franz - or the other way around, Sam didn't want to know that so exactly - it had been relaxing to break out of the routine and spend time with the boys.   
But on the other hand, they were only in the manor house because Jocelyn would be holding her ritual in the castle in the next few days.

It was so damn hot up here, but it was Romy's moontime and she needed Sam with her. Sighing, he rolled over on his stomach. The sheet was stuck to him, the thin underpants were stuck to him, the thin blanket - without a blanket he couldn't sleep - was stuck to him, his hair stuck to his face. He couldn't sleep and rubbed his face against the pillow, his skin tingling with all the sweat.   
"Samson?"   
"Hmm?" He turned his head in her direction. As the moonlight shone through the wide open windows, he could see a little.   
"What exactly is meant by _polishing the pearl_?"   
He paused. "In which context?"   
"Oh, well..." Romy mumbled uneasily, "I don't think it was about jewellery."   
"No," he mumbled back and wished himself far away.   
"And what does it mean now?"   
"Do we have to have this conversation?"   
"You mean, right now?"   
_"At all!"_   
"I'm just asking!"   
He sighed and buried his face in the pillow for a moment before replying: "It means that a woman is touching herself." Or that someone else is doing it. Or licks there. But he didn't say that. He didn't want to talk about it, wouldn't even want to talk about it with Ginevra (unless he felt obliged to do so as a married big brother).   
"Oh."   
He looked at Romy; he didn't see much, but she seemed thoughtful.   
"Do you know how to do that?"   
"No." If possible, he became even warmer. "I've never kissed a girl before, let alone touched one."   
"Hmm," she made thoughtful.   
"You know," he said quietly and wondered why he didn't just let it rest, "said pearl is a part of you, so maybe you should know that best."   
She made a noise, somewhere between sighing and snorting. "I thought you were going to deal with the anatomy book."   
"I'm only at chapter three." And the genitals were discussed in the seventh chapter. Again she made a noise, but this time it sounded like an annoyed sigh.   
"I had a fight with Ellie," she said after a pause and Sam was smart enough to know she didn't change the subject. "She said... well... that I should allow you..."   
"Oh." The rest of the sentence he could imagine and his face burned with embarrassment.   
"Yes." Probably Romy was no less embarrassed, especially since at the time of the conversation she obviously had no idea what Ellie was talking about.   
"Would you..." She seemed to be looking for a suitable word and he distorted the face in an unpleasant premonition. "Would you like that?"   
He blinked in surprise - he hadn't expected the wording. "I don't even want to think about the different levels of meaning of this question..."   
"But-"   
"I think," he certainly started and hoped that the subject would soon come to an end, "that it's something very enjoyable when you love each other."   
She was silent for quite a while and finally Sam closed his eyes, but suddenly she asked:   
"Touching yourself is something like sex, isn't it?"   
For a moment he stared into the silvery darkness. "A sexual act, yes." He sighed, "Could you please let me sleep now?"   
"So if you touch yourself to get rid of the contaminated semen..."   
"Romy, please..."   
"...then that's..."   
"Romy..."   
"... nice? It looked disgusting."   
He sighed annoyed. "I don't want to talk about it."   
"Why not? At least I gave you the order to do it."   
"Yes, and that makes it a duty if I don't want to die of poisoning. That kills the desire behind it quite badly."   
"...oh.", she made very quiet, almost a little guilty.   
"Why don't you talk to your mother or your sisters about such things?", Sam wanted to know then.   
"I... Lyandra explained the thing with the moontime to me. She said we'd talk about the rest if I had found a man for the ritual."   
"But Jocelyn killed her before."   
"Right."   
"What about Jonas?"   
"He was forbidden to talk about it."   
"Oh."   
"Yes," she murmured, "oh."   
Again they fell into silence and Sam fell asleep somewhere between memories of his father and his attempts to explain the same stuff.

~

"You're screeching like a little girl," Franz laughed as Sam came out of the cold lake snorting. Owen had pushed him in from the old footbridge.   
"Fuck you!"   
"Better not..." Franz made a face.   
"Why?" Sam wanted to know, wiped the water from his face and pulled himself back onto the footbridge, which swayed violently as Owen took a running jump and jumped into the lake.   
"Henry's been pretty aggressive lately..."   
"He hurt you..."   
Franz did not answer and his silence was answer enough.   
"Don't put up with that."   
"I'm not a fighter, Sam, you know that."   
"Yeah, but-"   
"And it's not like I don't like getting fucked."   
"Yeah, but not like that! He hurts you!"   
Franz sighed and splashed with his feet in the water. "Just let it be..."   
And because Franz didn't look as if he wanted to talk, they sat silently on the shaky footbridge, their feet in the cool lake, and watched Owen, who swam a large round with powerful moves.

When Owen came back, Franz had caught himself a little and screamed and laughed as Owen pushed him into the water. Sam laughed and jumped in voluntarily, although the water wasn't such a big shock the second time. Then they went dripping wet back into the shade of the trees on the lake shore, where they had left their things and a stolen wineskin. Sam looked at Franz from the corner of his eye, he seemed depressed and tried to conceal it, and Sam and Owen's good mood helped.   
Naked as they were, they dropped onto the thick moss cushions and shared the wine - probably there would be trouble for that later, but firstly Sam's punishments weren't particularly harsh and secondly the other two would probably know what they were doing.   
At least he hoped so.

They talked and laughed and at some point Franz asked:   
"What was the most embarrassing moment of your life?"   
"Uff," Owen made thoughtful. Sam giggled, a little tipsy of the wine and the heat; when Owen thought often a somewhat stupid expression sneaked into his face and now that he was naked it was kind of funny.   
"Why don't you tell first?" Sam suggested to Franz.   
"Yeah," Owen agreed and nodded.   
"Oh... well... I guess... I guess the most embarrassing moment was when I first met Gabrielle."   
Sam giggled again.   
"She was training and was pretty much dragging on the terrible prince from the East as she took her knights apart, and her parents were standing next to me and she didn't realize we were there until her father said something. And then he introduced me and she looks at me. _You are hot. I am hot. I go for a bath._ And then she ran away."   
"And what exactly was embarrassing about it?" Owen wanted to know skeptically.   
"Everything."   
"If you live such a boring life like Franz, there are not so many exciting things, you know...", Sam said.   
"Hey," Franz protested promptly. "Tell me again about your examination."   
Sam shrugged. "Meanwhile I'm over it."   
"How's that going?" asked Owen, now curious.   
"In Whitehill the possible recruits are gathered together and all have to line up naked in the dining room for the examination. I almost died of shame then, but it's okay now."   
Owen giggled and handed the wineskin to the slightly sulking Franz.   
"I found the last evening as a squire much worse." Sam felt the heat all too clearly and reached for the wineskin, which was almost empty.   
"Tell me..." Franz asked him.   
"Each squire who was to receive the knighthood was called individually for a final conversation with a group of the older knights. But that wasn't really a conversation... We... I should take off my armour and undress. I was measured, head to toe, for a final report." Sam became even warmer with shame. "I was supposed to jerk off in front of everyone present... and I couldn't."   
Owen and Franz both giggled.   
"I think I somehow talked myself out of it that my father's court doctor had my health completely under control and any deficiencies would certainly be fixed immediately and such nonsense."   
Now Owen laughed loudly and Franz snorted amusedly.   
"Have you never been caught or something?"   
"No." Sam thought briefly of Romy and pushed the thought aside.   
"And you?" Owen wanted to know.   
"Me?" Franz looked at him smiling. "My brothers taught me how to do it."   
Again Owen laughed loudly and demanded the wineskin.   
"And your most embarrassing experience?", Sam wanted to know from Owen.   
"Hmm. I wasn't supposed to be with Gavin, but of course we snuck away together. At some point we were right in the middle of it, somewhere in a secluded room, when Gavin's mother came in with her lover. But the two only noticed us when she used some very dirty words and Gavin politely pointed out that minors were present."   
Sam laughed, Franz giggled.   
"Parents are strange..."   
The remark reminded Sam that last night he was thinking about his father.   
"Great Mother, _fathers_ are strange. If I ever have a son, please, don't let me make a drama like him."   
"What happened?" Owen asked and wiped wine off his chin.   
"He took me with him to pick mushrooms. I think that was autumn before I turned thirteen. Anyway, he talked for hours about something I didn't have the foggiest about and seemed to get more and more nervous. Until he pulled his pants down in the middle of chanterelles and waggled his dick around and said _I'm talking about this!"_ Sam giggled silly. "And I look at him big-eyed and say _Dad, you don't show that to nobody, just to a doctor_."   
Owen screamed with laughter and Franz ran wine out of his mouth when he tried to swallow.   
"I think he wanted to cry. And then he talked again for a very, very unpleasant hour about growing up..." Sam giggled again. With so many years distance it wasn't so bad anymore, but still he wanted to make it better - if he ever had a son at some point.   
Franz got up in an awkward way and disappeared between the trees to pee.   
"Do you have siblings?" Sam wanted to know of Owen.   
"No. Unfortunately not. Just a younger cousin, Ron."   
"Must be lonely."   
"Hmm. A bit. There's nobody there to share parental attention with."   
Sam nodded thoughtfully.   
Franz came back. "How about a nap?"   
"Sounds good," Owen said and stretched out promptly.   
Sam smiled and did it after him.  
  


The moisture on his skin changed from lake water to sweat while Sam lay in the moss and dozed. He wasn't tired enough to sleep with Franz's snoring, and when he opened his eyes, Owen looked at him thoughtfully. Questioningly he looked back and Owen stood up to sit next to him.   
"Franz is quite done," Owen mumbled and Sam nodded.   
"What happened?"   
"Ellie's determined to have him for her ritual." With his thumb Owen stroked over the half-heartedly healed wounds on his legs that had already struck Sam yesterday. "Henry was a bit weird and rough on him before, so I have no idea what's going on with him. But..." Owen sighed and looked across the lake for a moment.   
"What happened to your legs?"   
"Ellie punished me because I didn't offer to change places with Franz. And then she said she wouldn't have allowed it anyway because she needed me as a fighting knight."   
Sam snorted softly. "The woman is mad."   
"Maybe. Rather psychopathic."   
"Kind of comes down to the same thing."   
"Maybe."   
They remained silent for a moment.   
"Sam?"   
"Hmm?"   
"How do you feel here? So overall."   
"Hmm. Romy treats me okay. We made an agreement and... well... what can I say? That's the only thing that gives me hope at the moment to get out of here alive. She doesn't admit it, but I think she's afraid of Jocelyn."   
"She should be afraid of Ellie," Owen murmured and Sam nodded.   
"That too."   
"Are you afraid?"   
"Of Romy? No. Only what the other two could do if they considered Romy a threat."   
Owen nodded thoughtfully. Again he looked out at the lake and Sam kept asking himself whether Owen was afraid.   
They remained silent for a while and Sam frowned as Owen laid his hand on Sam's thighs.   
"May I protect you?" Owen asked suddenly.   
"I beg your pardon?" Sam blinked at him irritated.   
"I... I was always somehow a protector, you know, first at home for Ron and then for the mercenaries and then for Gavin... I tried to protect Franz from Henry, you know, but... something broke in Franz when you came here. He told me about you, about his friend, the knight, who is a hero in the kingdoms. Maybe he thought you would save him, I don't know. And now that Ellie has settled it, well..." Owen seemed a little helpless and Sam felt almost the same, for he had no idea what Owen expected of him.   
"I would feel better if I could protect you. I'm afraid that otherwise I'll break..." Now Owen's voice was just a whisper and Sam smiled.   
"Of course you can." When Owen felt better with it...   
"Thank you." Owen's hand slipped up a bit further. "May I... may I kiss you?"   
Astonished Sam looked at him.   
"I miss Gavin. But I like you..." Owen seemed a bit more helpless and lonely and Sam's heart felt clenched. He took a look at Franz, who had curled up on his moss bed and snored peacefully.   
"Franz told me about you, that's why I'm asking first of all. And I promise you, I won't do anything you don't want."   
A little affection and attention...   
"Okay...", Sam whispered nervously, "a kiss."   
"Okay," Owen whispered back and kissed Sam so carefully, as if he could break under the touch.

Of course, it didn't stop with a kiss. And of course Owen didn't stay that careful.   
His kisses included a gentle sucking and licking and nibbling and he not only kissed Sam's mouth, he kissed his neck, jaw and chin, pinched gently into a nipple- which sent a tingling sensation all the way to Sam's toes- and stroked his skin. Sam was far too shy to reciprocate more than just the cautious touches, and when a part of him demanded more than just kissing, he swallowed that desire. But Owen seemed to feel it and began kissing Sam's neck very intensely, sucking, licking, nibbling, over the nipples to the stomach and further down.   
"Owen... what are you doing?" Sam muttered as Owen placed a kiss on the tip of his penis.   
"Kiss you," Owen mumbled back. "Say stop if you don't want it."   
Sam lost a lustful whimper as Owen put him in his mouth and definitely did more with it than kissing.   
"Ooooh... Great Mother... don't stop..."   
Owen grumbled in agreement and the vibration made Sam bite his lip and clawed his fingers into the moss. He stopped thinking, just enjoyed this warm, damp, enclosed feeling...   
"Don't be so quiet", Owen muttered, "I want to hear you."   
Sam promptly slipped a throaty moan, as if it had only waited for Owen's request. He was a little ashamed of those sounds and that he enjoyed the attention of another man, but on the other hand...   
Biting his hand to suppress a liberating outcry, he came into Owen's mouth. Owen swallowed and sucked for a moment, then straightened up as Sam struggled for air.   
"Was good?"   
"Stunning."   
Owen grinned, Sam grinned back, though more shyly. The redhead was hard, his lips swollen and his cheeks reddened; he looked good in a male way. Before Sam could continue any thought, Owen pulled him to himself and kissed him again, took Sam's hand and led it into his lap.   
"However you want..." he mumbled into a kiss and Sam nodded as he grasped Owen. It was strange, but he didn't want to be a selfish asshole and he had done it with Franz before.   
"I like your kisses," Owen murmured rough and Sam grinned.   
"You like it cuddly," he remembered and Owen made a consenting sound as he nibbled on Sam's earlobe and then turned to his neck base. Sam wrapped one arm around him to hold him while the other hand worked.   
Owen obviously didn't just like it cuddly and full of kisses, but also loud, because he made a lot of noises himself and bit Sam in the shoulder when he came quite surprisingly. Sam suppressed a sound of pain and looked over at Franz, but he was still sleeping peacefully.   
"Thank you," Owen gasped pressed.   
"What for?" Sam wanted to know irritated.   
"For everything."   
Sam shook his head and pushed Owen a bit away. They looked at each other and then Sam said quietly:   
"I tell you what. When we get out of here alive, we go to Threehills together. Gavin is my brother-in-law, he can't just send me and my escort away."   
"You-"   
"Sh."   
Owen's eyes had grown big and he nodded silently, then he pulled Sam to himself and in a sweaty hug, stained with Owen's cum, they sat there and enjoyed what they had shared.

~

"Who hurt you?"   
"Nobody." Sam replied astonished to Romy's gloomy question. She pushed his shirt a bit to the side and stroked his neck - apparently Owen had left a mark there and Sam blushed when he became aware of it. Romy frowned and looked at him, examining him.   
"What happened, Samson?"   
"Nothing."   
"That doesn't look like _nothing_."   
Squirming inwardly, he tried to withstand her gaze. "Owen kissed me."   
Her frown deepened and he pointed to his mouth before suggesting a way down.   
"That's called _polishing the sword_."   
"With his mouth?" She seemed skeptical and he nodded, shrugging at the same time.   
"Is that the way men have sex?"   
He blushed. "No."   
"But?"   
"Um, well... sex is penetration, isn't it, and man and woman anatomically form a counterpart and..." In daylight and face to face, the subject was much worse and Sam began to stammer a little.   
"But where - oh. Oh." Her eyes grew big. "How disgusting!"   
"Yeah..." he agreed quietly and then she suddenly pressed her lips together when she really understood.   
"Henry did-"   
"Yes."   
She turned red, but with rage. "I'm the only one who can hurt you!"   
Sam made a face.   
"You and Owen...?"   
"No. No, I don't want that. It was just kisses, I swear."   
Grimly she nodded and then began to walk up and down. He watched her uncomfortably until she stopped abruptly.   
"I want a hug."   
"Excuse me?" Surprised, he blinked.   
"I have my moontime. I need you. I want a hug," she proudly explained.   
"You are worse than Ginevra," Sam muttered and stepped up to her before hesitantly embracing her. In here it was too warm for physical contact.   
"Is that a compliment or an insult?" she wanted to know and wrapped her arms around him. The embrace was not for her, but for him.   
"Choose for yourself," he said quietly into her hair and closed his eyes. Vanilla and winter spices. Romy leaned against him, proud and strong.   
"You love her."   
"Yes." He missed Ginevra.   
But as for hugs, Romy was a good substitute for the moment.


	13. Sometimes it's easy to choose between vegetables and meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sam has to face vegetables... and Henry

"Why do they all have such weird titles on the coast?"   
Sam sighed and buried his face in his hands.   
"I mean, _Erik the Punctual_. Seriously? _Edwina the Shy_. Really, why?"   
Sam didn't answer, but let Romy moan. Together they had gone through the individual royal houses of the other countries and Romy let out her frustration a little childishly.   
"Isn't that incest?" she asked abruptly and Sam raised his gaze.   
"Hmm?"   
"Edwina is Erik's half-sister, isn't she?"   
"No, that's another one. Queen Edwina doesn't come from Silvershore, but from... um... Rockvalley, I think. She took the name Edwina for her marriage."   
"Oh. Why?"   
Sam shrugged. "Some nobles do so when they marry into a royal family. To adapt one's own name somehow."   
"How silly."   
He sighed again. "It's not always all silly just because it's different."   
She snorted.   
"Which king rules in Sunplains?"   
"Um... King Richard..."   
"Wrong. Queen Franziska."   
"That's mean. You said _king_." She sulked and Sam smiled tiredly.   
"Oh, so now I'm mean..."   
"Yes."   
"Royal family of Sunplains."   
"Hrmph. Queen Franziska, Prince Consort Ludwig, Crown Prince Frederick... uh... Franziska... Benedikt, Gudrun, Franz... uh... Da-De-Desiree..."   
"First Gudrun, then Benedict," Sam corrected, nodding as she looked at him darkly.   
"For all I care."   
Sam's stomach grumbled audibly.   
"Why are you already hungry again?" Romy wanted to know in disbelief and Sam sighed.   
"Because I work physically and it's no fun in the heat. I have more muscles than you and need more energy. And I can't eat so many vegetables to get really full."   
"Work physically, yeah?" She raised a brow. In the morning he had trained with the other guards and before this lesson he had been sent out with Owen to collect some herbs from the edge of the swamps. He nodded and felt his cheeks warm as she scrutinized him.   
"Collecting herbs is hard work, I see."   
"Well, it's hot and..." He fell silent, even though she did nothing but arrange her notes.   
"One of the guards accompanied you inconspicuously and asked me if your little interludes should be stopped."   
Deadly embarrassed that someone had watched them, Sam wished he was far away.   
"It was just a few kisses..." He had stumbled and fallen in the muddy ground and Owen's protective instinct had been triggered. His quiet murmur elicited a snort from Romy.   
"It was more than just a few kisses. Do you enjoy touching other men?"   
Under her gaze, he struggled uneasily. "I don't like men, if that's what you mean. But kisses are distracting enough..."   
"Does it happen often?"   
Irritated, he looked up and frowned, she looked at him.   
"You and Owen, I mean."   
"Oh... um... no... That... um... it was just the two times."   
"In the castle I can provide you with company if you want."  
"What?" he asked soundlessly. She had tilted her head.   
"Male, of course. When it's relaxing for you..."   
"N-no, don't bother!" he fought off hastily. Great Mother, he didn't need Romy to send any men to him!   
"Was only an offer..." She shrugged. He denied himself the remark that he would prefer female company and rubbed his arms. His skin suddenly tinged and the feeling grew to a shudder. Romy sat stiffly on her chair and distorted her face.   
"What is this?" he asked quietly.   
"Magic... Jocelyn has begun her ritual."   
"Oh..."   
She shuddered now too. "Great Mother Earth..." she murmured and stretched her neck, her face almost appearing full of pleasure. Meanwhile Sam began to rub his arms hectically and tried not to scratch himself; it was a disgusting feeling.   
"Is this going on all night now?"   
"I hope not," she murmured with her eyes closed.   
"It feels terrible."   
"Erik must have some hidden magical talent," she said quietly and Sam drilled his fingernails into his leg through the fabric of his trousers.   
"It itches!"   
"Male magic..." She made a face and then the feeling stopped.

For a moment they remained silent, then Romy sighed softly.   
"Whatever talent he has, it could make things uncomfortable."   
"What does that even mean?" Sam wanted to know and stroked his arms one last time.   
"Oh, there are a lot of people who have hidden magic talents. Hidden because the talent is too weak to be used consciously. But it can be tapped unconsciously." She stood up to put away her notes. "An outstanding singer, an always successful hunter, an untraceable pickpocket..." She shrugged in allusion.   
"You think Erik could use this talent to be a better knight?" Sam quietly wanted to know.   
"Unconsciously, sure. What do you think?"   
Sam frowned thoughtfully. "I can't imagine that with such magic he would make such a beginner's mistake as stupid footwork. But on the other hand... what else would he use this talent for?"   
Romy shrugged. "I hardly know him. Who knows what other interests he has. Maybe he's a stunning dancer."   
Sam grinned crookedly. "Well, I don't know."

At that moment it knocked.   
"Come in."   
A guard opened the door and let two children in who put the heavy food trays on the table, bowed and then left. Sam's stomach grumbled and Romy sighed.   
"You should watch how much you eat. Someday you'll get fat."   
"Seriously, look in the mirror yourself first", he grumbled and went from the desk to the dining table. "Instead of always stealing my dessert, you should eat reasonable portions. You seem to get thinner and thinner."   
He lifted the hoods over their plates. "Oh. What's _that_?"   
She joined him with a pinched expression on her face while he looked at the strange white flesh - or was it fish?   
"Boiled swamp snake, fried bog hyacinths and rice in sweet cream," she explained and sat down.   
"Snake?" A little disgusted, he let himself sink to his chair.   
"Yes, why not? If you water the meat of the swamp snake long enough, it loses its earthy aftertaste. Together with the slightly bitter onions of the bog hyacinths and the sweet cream, this results in a very harmonious dish. And it's extremely healthy." As enthusiastic as Romy drew a fried onion through the cream sauce and then loudly crunched it in her mouth, so skeptical was Sam's eye on the plates. Her portion was much bigger than usual.   
"Well, I want to see you eat all of it."   
"Will it rain tomorrow otherwise?" she asked with her brow raised.   
"Where did you suddenly get this mocking humor from?"   
"From you, I guess. No one else is bothering me so much."   
He opened his mouth and her fork stuck in the air.   
"Eat. Before it gets cold."   
Obediently he began to eat and tried not to make a face. The onions of the bog hyacinths were more than just _slightly bitter_ and the snake meat tasted spicy in an unpleasant way - it was certainly not his new favourite dish; only the rice in the sweet cream sauce tasted normal, but it certainly didn't satisfy him.   
And the fact that Romy looked after the last grain of rice, as if she wanted to lick the plate, didn't make it any better.

~

Sam awoke maybe two heartbeats before the magic jolt threw him out of bed.   
"Urgh..." He moaned - the bed was damn high. Romy also groaned quietly, but slipped much more elegantly and above all voluntarily out of bed. He heard her open the curtains and then saw her bathing in the moonlight.   
"Jocelyn finished the ritual," she explained after a moment of silence.   
"And... Erik...?" he asked uneasily.   
"He lives. First, we would have felt his death and second, Jocelyn would never sacrifice him." Gently Romy shook her head.   
"Why not?"   
For a moment she seemed to have to hold on to the curtains and Sam climbed back into bed.   
"She only has this one knight; she lost her other one at the first attempt. And... the two are like a couple."   
That deeply surprised Sam. "Really? I mean... is he here voluntarily?"   
"No. I guess they'll get married before we get back."   
"Oh..." Jealousy stung him, but on the other hand such things may have simply evolved over time. He looked at Romy's silhouette and shivered. She had only explained to him earlier how the further preparations would proceed and none of it sounded pleasant. He doubted very much that he could fall in love with a woman who hurt him without him wanting to. A woman who didn't arouse his sexual interest and also treated his sexuality like the question after dinner.   
"Romy... it's the middle of the night, come back to bed." He paused. "Great Mother, that sounds terribly wrong," he muttered and made a face.   
"Why?" she asked coolly. "Because you combine beds with partnership and sex?"   
He preferred not to answer and she climbed back into bed without another word, then curled up with her back to him.   
Would Jocelyn and Erik now cuddle up together in bed? Exhausted by the ritual, relieved that they had made it, relieved that he had survived?   
Probably.   
Sam asked himself briefly what Romy's plans were, how things would go if he survived.   
But as the moths were attracted to the light, his thoughts wandered back to Jocelyn.

~

Franz sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair.   
"Ellie's in a terribly bad mood."   
"Why?" Sam wanted to know and after a brief look at Franz, bent over to an arrow that had flown past the target.   
"Because Erik obviously has magical talent."   
"Yes, Romy mentioned it. And? He's not a wizard or a witcher or anything." Sam shrugged and they went back to the other end of the shooting range. Franz turned an arrow between his fingers.   
"But a child of these two could benefit from it."   
Sam stumbled over a tuft of grass. "What? How?"   
"The few sons witches have are rarely real witcher, but they always have a certain magical talent. If now from the fatherly side a talent is added, a much stronger witcher than usual could be the result. And now imagine a witcher who is trained like a knight by his father..."   
"Oh," Sam made and then again, this time ominously: "Oh."   
One of the reasons why the Empire had come across the ocean all those centuries ago had been the Order of Witchers - to wipe them out, the men they considered a threat, even though witches and witcher were bound to the land and none of them would have voluntarily crossed the ocean. Since then witch magic was almost exclusively a woman's business and Sam was almost happy about it, because the Order of Witchers would have made him a lot less meaningful as a knight.   
Nevertheless... "So Ellie fears a baby from Jocelyn and Erik?"   
Franz made an uncertain gesture.   
"Even if the two would work on it immediately- until a child is ready to pose a threat, I don't know, at least fifteen years, rather more, pass."   
Franz repeated his gesture and sighed. "Don't tell _me_. But Ellie's in a bad mood."   
Sam sighed quietly and searched for words, but found none. It was obvious that Franz suffered from Ellie's bad mood.

The silence was finally broken by Henry, who strolled along.   
"Well, who do we have there...?" Mocking and hostile. Sam just gave him a quick look before he placed another arrow and aimed. He hit almost exactly the middle.   
"Do you aim at Erik mentally?" Henry wanted to know and Sam frowned before silently sinking another arrow at the edge of the center.   
"I'd rather aim at you," he finally said. Henry's face turned to a joyless grin.   
"Oh yeah?"   
Quietly, Sam asked himself why Henry was in such a bad mood, but probably the reason didn't matter, because they had to endure his mood anyway.   
"Yes. Works quite well, as you can see." From the corner of his eye Sam saw Franz nervously stepping from one foot to the other.   
"Yeah..." Henry said stretched, his dark eyes sparkled and the grin gave way to a grimace. "Come here, Sam, come here, little prince, and show me how well you can aim..." He took a step forward, Franz made a suffocated sound, Sam lowered the bow - and then all of a sudden everything went very fast.   
They wrestled with each other and Sam was glad that he had put the quiver on the floor out of sheer comfort. By the way, he was also happy that Owen had shown him a few tricks, although it didn't do him as much good as he had hoped, because he ultimately landed hard on his back and the air was pushed out of his lungs, with Henry kneeling on Sam's chest and nailing him down successfully.   
"So, little prince..." Henry wheezed, "still so quarrelsome?"   
"We're not finished yet", Sam choked out and had to blink a few times because there were colourful dots dancing in front of his eyes.   
"No", Henry confirmed and began to fiddle with his trousers, "we really aren't..."   
It filled Sam with disgust to know that Henry got hard by such a fight and the thought of the following humiliation, even more so than said body part itself could do, which finally dangled in front of his sight in a demanding way.   
"Come on, little prince... make yourself useful."   
"I've never done anything like this before, maybe you should show me how to do it first," Sam said a little pressed by the weight on his chest.   
"Ha, you'd like that." Henry laughed scornfully.   
"Would at least be a nice gesture..."   
"Open your mouth!"   
Sam tensed and opened his mouth while Franz made an uncomfortable noise in the background. Strangely instinctively, Sam let his tongue glide over Henry and watched the sparkle in his eyes. Just before the point where Sam had to choke, Henry paused and grinned with satisfaction.   
At that very moment, Sam pushed Henry upside down, made half a backward roll and was over Henry before he had recovered from the shock. However, he knelt sideways on him and drew his dagger, which he pressed into Henry's crotch, just below his testicles.   
"Apparently you need someone to remind you of your rank, although you seem to know mine quite well," Sam hissed at him.   
Henry just groaned.   
"You're messing with the wrong knight."   
"Without your weapons you're weak."   
"Well, but at the moment I have one. See?" Sam increased the pressure and moved the blade sideways past Henry's testicles until the tip bored into the skin right next to the base of the penis.   
"Romy's servant Jonas has lived very well for many years without, you know, and Ellie is not dependent on you. So, what do you think, Henry?"   
"Get off me!"   
"Soon. First of all we clarify the more urgent question. Shall my hand slip for a moment?"   
"Sam..." Franz sounded tortured.   
"Not now, Franz." He drilled the blade a little further into Henry's skin and he sucked the air in sharply.   
"I got it..."   
"Very good." Sam straightened up and looked at Franz. They both knew that Henry would wreak his frustration on Franz and Sam was terribly sorry, but he never wanted to be touched again by Henry.   
"Fight back," he simply said before putting the dagger away and taking a big step over Henry.

~

Sam's stomach grumbled in joyful anticipation as he lifted the hood over his plate and discovered three bulging sausages. He quickly chased away the thought of Henry's sausage and enthusiastically stabbed the fork in to cut a piece. The carrots next to it were uninteresting and as for the mashed potatoes:   
"I hope there's not so much garlic in there again."   
"No. Garlic was taken off your menu," Romy replied and took something apart that looked like stuffed potatoes. Vegetables filled with vegetables - Sam shivered mentally.   
"Why?" he asked instead, chewing.   
"Because you don't digest garlic well. You stink too much afterwards."   
He made a face. "It's not necessarily one of those things you like to hear."   
"Someone has to tell the truth."   
He snorted and changed the subject. "Why don't you actually eat meat?" Matching this, he shoved another piece of sausage, garnished with mashed potatoes, into his mouth.   
"I definitely eat meat. And snake even very willingly."   
He had noticed- for lunch there had been vegetable soup with snake meat inlay and he had fished out the white pieces all too gladly and left them to her.   
"Snake really tastes good to me and is more like fish, so that's no problem."   
"Why should meat be a problem?" he wanted to know and looked at her questioningly.   
"Witches are very close to nature, as you should have noticed by now. In order to get meat, you have to kill, and such things influence our magic."   
"Maybe, but you don't kill the pig yourself."   
"Right. But that's not the point. Humans are also meat, you know."   
Sam's fork stayed in the air for a moment. "What exactly do you mean by that?"   
"Witches who eat a lot of meat sooner or later develop a certain thirst for blood, which is also directed against their fellow men."   
"Oh."   
She tilted her head in agreement. "Allegedly, human meat tastes like pork."   
He distorted his face. "Seriously?"   
"I never tried it and I don't intend to. Which meat do you like best?"   
Irritated, he looked at her. "Why?" he asked carefully.   
"Rituals of such magnitude begin with a sacrifice and no matter which path one chooses, no witch can get around a blood sacrifice. But an animal is enough. Rabbit? They're small and don't make such a mess."   
"Um..."   
"It'll be eaten afterwards, therefore I ask."   
"Oh... uh... well, rabbit sounds good?"   
She nodded in agreement. "Some of the paths begin with a human sacrifice; the most brutal, if I'm not mistaken, count six dead."   
"Wait... you said the blood sacrifice will be eaten. So... is the person being eaten?" Disgusted, he saw her nod.   
"Of course not everything, my goodness."   
He turned his gaze back to his plate and distorted his face a little more. Suddenly the sausages seemed very symbolic to him.   
"Phallus symbol phobia?"   
"What?"   
She pointed with her fork at the sausages.   
"You're ruining my appetite."   
"Well, if it's nothing else..."   
"You're enjoying this, admit it."   
She didn't answer, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitching.   
Suddenly he found mashed potatoes and carrots very tempting.


	14. If witches have fun- run, knight, run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little reminder of why witches are feared outside Darkmoore...

The doors to the throne room opened and Sam entered, while Romy clung to his arm because of the many people inside. The hot, sultry air in the room, impregnated with the scent of sweat, perfume and herbs, hit him like a wall, as did the sound; apparently witches were damn loud in company.

Ellie - in Franz's company - had entered the hall shortly before them and was now standing to the left of the throne, on which Queen Ruby sat in dignified posture, although her curls seemed rather tousled than combed. Romy made a deep curtsey in front of her mother and Sam a deep bow, then they took their place to the right of the throne and the smaller armchair where Romy relaxed a little. While they waited for Jocelyn, Sam let his gaze wander through the hall. There were almost only women present; the few men he saw accompanied either the very old or the very young women. The entire Darkmoore nobility was female, and if his feelings did not mislead him, they were also magically gifted.  
He felt very uncomfortable. Romy at his side seemed restless and so he asked quietly:  
"Too many people?"  
"Too many witches," came the short answer.  
"I thought you liked being a witch."  
"Yes, but witches aren't made for big societies. That means anger."  
"Oh..."  
She nodded with a rigid expression on her face.  
"Samson..." She gave him a quick look and licked her lips uneasily, but before she could continue, somebody knocked on the stone tiles three times. It probably wasn't a herald, because as the doors swung open and Jocelyn stepped in by Erik's side, everything remained silent.  
She wore - as for their first encounter - dark blue with silver embroidery, sapphires on her neck and hair, and a long, dark blue though transparent train, somehow embedded with the bare blackwood tree of the crest. As she walked through the hall, Sam suddenly understood why it should be a ritual of maturity, for although he had last seen her a few days ago, she suddenly radiated a dignified maturity that would have made even Sam's mother pale. Romy, on the other hand, seemed like a child and he began to suspect that in the eyes of the other witches she really was. Because with the exception of a few young women - with Romy and Ellie there were thirteen - all the women present wore dark colours.  
"Could you please stop staring at my sister and be _my_ knight again?" Romy hissed soundlessly and Sam felt himself blushing; he actually stared.

Finally Jocelyn and Erik had reached the small dais and both bowed their heads greeting.  
"Mother."  
"My Queen."  
Ruby nodded back. "As a mother, I recognized and endorsed your choice."  
Jocelyn nodded.  
"As queen, I recognize you as my heiress."  
Jocelyn nodded again.  
"As a witch, I recognize your knight, but you must also face the council of the sages, like all others. Sir Erik, son, step forward."  
Romy's fingers twitched on Sam's arm as Erik stepped forward a single step, while Jocelyn stepped on the middle of the three podium steps and thirteen ancient-looking witches came from the side, dressed in black shapeless dresses and with their hair open - they looked as if they had been taken from a horror fairy tale.  
They stood up around Erik, wandered around him, looked at him like a horse for sale, and finally one of them made a brief hand movement - his belt fell to the ground with a muffled sound and his pants slipped down. He took it without blinking, for which Sam honestly admired him. One witch after the other stepped forward, examined his crotch and then carved something into the skin directly above the pubic hair with a small knife. When all thirteen were finished, Jocelyn waved and pants and belt slipped back into place, then Erik stepped up to her on the dais, where she sat down in the small armchair and he stepped behind her.

All this had taken place in absolute and uncanny silence and though Sam was sweating like crazy in the hot, stuffy hall, he shuddered a little. At a hint invisible to him, those present began to cheer.  
"What's happening now?" he wanted to know, whispering.  
"I'm not sure, but I think mother is sitting in judgement now," she whispered back.  
"You don't know?"  
"No, I have never been at anything like this before." It was a little disturbing that Romy didn't know how the rest of the evening would go, but at least it explained why she hadn't said a word about it before.  
"Was there no such feast for Lyandra?"  
"No. Jocelyn killed her too quickly."  
Jocelyn had probably heard her name above the cheering, because she hissed something incomprehensible in their direction. Then the cheering ebbed away as two servants carried in a large stable table, another servant carried a silver tray of papers and knelt down beside Ruby's throne, and then four men marched in in the Queen's Guard uniform, but without armour.

Ruby signaled and the doors opened. Two guards brought in a man who wore nothing but torn trousers and shackles and apparently had spent some time in the dungeon. As he stood in front of the table, Sam noticed irritated as one of the Queen's Guards emptied a tiny bottle, while Ruby took the top document from the silver tray and took a quick look.  
"Alvin, right?"  
The defendant nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."  
"You are accused of raping your guild master's daughter."  
Alvin shook his head. "No, Your Majesty, I am innocent."  
Ruby made a tiny gesture and a knight brought in a pregnant young woman, almost a child; Alvin whitened. The reaction would probably have been enough for everyone and the assembled witches chanted:  
"Guilty! Guilty!"  
Ruby shook her head pitifully. "Alvin... the crown considers you guilty." Another hint with the finger and the Guard Knight, who had drunk, stepped forward. Almost immediately Sam realized what awaited Alvin, and Alvin himself probably knew it too.  
"No, Your Majesty, please!" His stammer drowned, while one half of the women scolded and the other half jeered.  
"What... what happens to him?" Romy asked tense and Sam gave her a quick look. She had frowned in an unsettled manner and answered Sam's gaze questioningly.  
"He was considered guilty of rape. So now he'll have to suffer it himself, I guess."  
Silently her eyes grew big and her fingers drilled into his hand. Alvin's begging turned into screaming and sobbing that could hardly be heard about the women's noise.

Two other men were considered guilty of rape and punished, while nausea accumulated in Sam's stomach and Romy trembled beside him.  
The fourth accused was brought in and when Sam looked at Ruby, he became cold. In her face lay hatred.  
"Carter..."  
The man was uncomfortable.  
"Carter, you are accused of raping a witch." Frosty silence spread through the throne room, and to Sam's discomfort, Romy's face was now also filled with contempt. Carter remained silent, but a middle-aged woman in dark reddish brown stepped forward.  
"I took Carter into my guard at the beginning of the year," she explained, raising her chin.  
"Lady Twinflower." Ruby nodded to her.  
"My niece successfully completed her ritual, but her knight died. She was weakened and vulnerable and I asked her to stay away from the men until we found a new knight for her. There was no reason for _him_ to go near her."  
"Your Majesty, I've been ordered to do so," Carter finally said.  
"Oh. And who gave this order?"  
"Lady Twinflowers daughter, Noelle," he said hesitantly. Lady Twinflower frowned.  
"Noelle would not have gained anything from it." Apparently said Noelle was not present and Ruby frowned as well.  
"Lady Twinflower, would you like to clarify the matter privately or should we continue?"  
"He didn't deny the crime, so punish him - but let him live. The rest will be decided privately." Lady Twinflower nodded and stepped back to her place.  
"What is the punishment for this?" Sam asked Romy in silence.  
"He will be completely castrated." She sounded as if that wasn't enough, and Sam shuddered. This punishment was also carried out immediately, because Carter was strapped to the table and immediately freed of his penis and testicles without any anaesthesia. His shrill screeching died when the witch who performed the operation magically sealed the wounds and he fainted. Sam, who had meanwhile stared at a spot somewhere on the wall, began to tremble as the table and Carter were carried out.  
"He deserved it," Romy said coldly.  
"Probably," Sam mumbled soundlessly. To his surprise, she let go of his arm and looked at him, examining him.  
"Witches aren't cruel," she said determined. "We defend our rights. What is the death sentence worth if the woman has to suffer the rest of her life from this experience?"  
Unhappily, he made a face. "You're right, I'm sorry."  
"Imagine it was your sister."  
He grimaced a little more, but on the one hand a further defendant was brought in, and on the other Romy grabbed his hand, interlaced her fingers with his, and held him like an anchor would hold a ship.

The man did not look like a defendant, however, because he was clean and neatly dressed, without shackles and with only one squire as escort. He bowed to Ruby and she nodded to him.  
"Speak."  
"Your Majesty, I am here to contradict my wife's divorce petition." The man was in his fifties, his dark hair streaked with first grey strands. Ruby nodded with a fine smile.  
"Your wife cites impotence as a reason for divorce, is that right?"  
The man blushed deeply, while Sam raised his eyebrows in amazement.  
"That... that's right, but I assure you that the marriage was consummated immediately after it was contracted three years ago."  
"Well, that's hard to judge," Ruby explained, sounding amused in a disturbing way. "Your first wife died childless and your current wife already has a child from her first marriage, so you can't even prove her virginity."  
"I... I know, Your Majesty, but..." He broke off when servants brought in a large wooden frame, followed by servants with pillows and blankets.  
"How about proving your potency here and now?" Ruby suggested while the servants built an improvised bed. The man hesitated uneasily. Romy's fingers squeezed almost painfully.  
"It doesn't matter if he's impotent or not," she whispered, "they'll magically force him and... and... oh, Great Mother..." At her words, a woman had already stepped forward and, with a wave of her hand, disposed the man of his clothes. With a second wave his penis straightened up a little too fast to be natural.  
"May I ask?" she asked gloatingly, pointing to the pillows. Completely taken by surprise, the man followed her invitation and before Sam could even take a deep breath, the witch had lifted her skirts and sat down on him.

Sam wasn't sure whether he was holding on to Romy or she was holding on to him as they watched as four more witches, with general cheering, enjoyed the man whose groans and moans seemed to come from pain rather than pleasure.  
"That's wrong," Romy finally whispered when the man was carried away and the improvised bed was removed. "This is just so terribly wrong..." Sam wholeheartedly agreed with her, but swallowed a remark when suddenly the light was dimmed.  
"Samson', Romy said insistently now and her face had a slightly hectic expression, "Samson, whatever happens now, don't fight it."  
"What...?"  
"They will-" She fell silent when, with a metallic clang, a large cauldron with curved feet was placed in the middle of the hall. In the tense silence Queen Ruby's heavy frock coat rustled loudly as she rose and stepped deliberately from the dais.  
"Thrice the brinded cat meowed," someone shouted.  
"Thrice and once the hedgehog whined," it shouted from another corner.  
"The harpy cries: it's time, it's time!", a third voice shouted shrill. To Sam's astonishment, Romy started humming next to him, just like all the other witches, apparently. Twelve more witches in dark frock coats joined Ruby and the humming became louder, faster, more penetrating; it reached Sam's bones and made his skin tingle. The thirteen witches began to dance around the cauldron to the humming beat, uncoordinated and completely without pattern.  
"Round about the cauldron go, in the poisoned entrails throw!" Ruby shouted wildly, throwing in something that looked like a shred of cloth - probably a symbolic gesture.  
"Skin of toad and spike of bone, sharpened on an eagle stone," said another witch, and also threw a piece of cloth into the cauldron.  
"Serpent's egg and dancing dead," continued a third witch and a fourth added:  
"Effigy of beaten lead!"  
And then Sam jerked violently when all the other witches - including Romy - shouted in a scary chorus:  
"Double double trouble you bubble in a witches' brew!"  
It hardly made sense.  
"Fillet of a fenny snake in the cauldron boil and bake!", yelled one of the dancing witches.  
"Eye of newt and toe of frog", another giggled.  
"Wool of bat and tongue of dog!" screamed another joyfully.  
"Lizard leg and fairy wing," added another one shrill.  
"Round about the cauldron sing!" Ruby challenged the witches and her twelve comrades laughed shrill as the choir raised again:  
"Double double trouble you bubble in a witches' brew!"  
The magical tingling on Sam's skin seemed to have developed a life of its own, it felt like tiny fingers groping under his clothes, feeling him, crawling over him.  
"Root of mandrake, dug at night, when the moon is full and bright", it went on.  
"Slip of yew and twig of fern!"  
"Make the fire dance and burn!"  
"For our will it will be done when the hurlyburly's done!"  
"Double double trouble you bubble in a witches' brew!"  
None of this made sense, but the witches continued to dance around the cauldron and symbolically threw in their scraps of cloth.

The list of ingredients seemed endless, and Sam was scared out of a kind of stunned dizziness when Romy let him go and made a hesitant move towards the dancing witches. She took another step, then another, and then one of the witches grabbed her by the arm. The thirteen witches in their frock coats and the thirteen young witches in their pale dresses- they had all hesitantly joined the circle, Ellie too- formed a strange contrast as they danced around the cauldron together, but Sam didn't have much time to think about it. As if he had taken Romy's place in the witch choir, his mouth opened for the strange chorus:  
"Double double trouble you bubble in a witches' brew!"  
Still a little surprised, Sam watched the older witches slowly withdraw until only the young witches sang and danced. Suddenly, however, the exuberant dance turned into an almost predatory sneak.  
"Double double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble! Double double trouble you bubble in a witches' brew!" They all stretched out their right hand to the cauldron.  
"Double double toil and trouble, like a hell-broth boil and bubble! Double double trouble you bubble in a witches' brew" In a strange gesture they all seemed to reach into the cauldron and then throw something into the air, but Sam saw nothing, instead he was grabbed by invisible hands and dragged forward. Since Romy had told him not to fight back, he voluntarily approached her and the magic stopped. As soon as he was standing next to her, she grabbed his hand, grabbed her little ritual knife from somewhere and cut it into his palm. He gasped for air in surprise, but she healed the wound directly after a few drops of blood had dripped from the blade into the cauldron. As he looked up, he saw Franz, pale as chalk and with dark rings around his eyes diagonally facing him. Franz returned his gaze a heartbeat long, but then a voice shouted:  
"Line up!"  
The witches abandoned their knights and formed a row in front of the dais, Sam and the other knights formed a row opposite them. Franz stood next to him, with his shoulders hanging and slightly trembling.  
"Prince!" Sam hissed at him, straightened his shoulders himself and clasped his hands behind his back - Franz imitated him with little enthusiasm.

The thirteen Sages stood before them.  
"You were chosen," one of them began, raising her crooked back a little, "to serve a witch." Her voice was a little scratchy, but echoed throughout the room.  
"You serve and you protect and you accompany - you are to your witch's will."  
Agreeing murmur of the other witches.  
"Your witch decides your life or death, but in her moontime she is defenseless and entrusts her life to you. A knight and his witch are a pair, they need each other." The old witch continued speaking for a while and seemed to repeat herself several times, but Sam's gaze had moved to Romy and further to Jocelyn. She sat relaxed in her armchair, a goblet in her hand, and Erik's hand lay on her shoulder. As he moved a little, the wedding ring shimmered in candlelight and Sam's stomach contracted briefly.  
And then he got a slap in the face.  
"The wisest of the sages speaks, so you listen," one of the other sages told him outraged.  
"I beg forgiveness," Sam said politely, but apparently not guilty enough, for the witch sparkled angrily at him.  
"Which one of you", another sage started now cool, "is circumcised? He will take a step back."  
Apart from Sam, who felt his heart beating in his throat, only two other knights stepped back. Seconds later, everyone else's pants slipped down and most instinctively held their hands in front of their privates.

It was no help. The ten unfortunate knights were circumcised before everyone's eyes, while Sam stared desperately at Romy - who also stared rigidly at him - trying not to think of the trembling picture of misery that had become of Franz. The screaming and groaning rang in his ears, but obviously the men were kept conscious. Sam had something like a phantom pain and tried hard to keep his face straight.  
"Kneel," ordered one of the sages, and accompanied by whimpering sounds twelve knights fell to their knees. Stubbornly Sam remained standing - it brought him a slap and the ring of the witch performing it ripped his cheek open.  
"I'm Prince Samson of Whitehill and I-"  
"He belongs to me," Romy interrupted him. The witches turned to her.  
"He belongs to me," she repeated, but under the full attention her voice began to tremble.  
"Samson, please pay due respect to the sages of Darkmoore."  
"As my princess wishes." He bowed his head accepting in her direction, then he bent a knee - he was a prince and a knight, not a supplicant. The witch who had beaten him hissed a little.  
"No, he doesn't wear a ring," Romy replied, still trembling, but clearly cool. "I prefer respect to blind obedience."  
There was a contemptuous answer and then silence occurred.

With his head bowed, he didn't quite notice what happened, but at some point Romy held out a hand to him, which he grabbed and then stood up. Again the magic crawled over his skin, careful and hesitant at first, but when the witches started humming again more vigorously. 

It seemed to be a moment of waiting that dragged on - it could have been minutes, but also hours. Sam sweated with nervousness and heat, his and Romy's hand were unpleasantly wet, he was infinitely thirsty and the tingling of magic drove him crazy. Then somewhere a bell began to ring.  
"At midnight the shadows dance," the thirteen sages shouted in a strange chant.  
"Fear shall always be with you," answered the thirteen young witches.  
"The rats whisper in the cellar."  
"And doubts arise."  
"Into the silence of the room, into the silence-"  
"The night comes to you."  
"- you say a word as heavy as a stone and as cruel as a beast."  
Sam shuddered and Romy pressed his hand briefly.  
"It is a nevermore!" the sages shouted in la engthened chant.  
"Nevermore," answered the young witches.  
"Nevermore!  
"Nevermore!  
"Nevermore!"  
"Nevermore!"  
So it went back and forth and then the sages continued: "Vanish and never return!"  
"Mine is all that is yours! Nevermore!" the young witches shouted enthusiastically, but a magical storm rose up and tugged at clothes and hair, and Sam slung his arms around Romy - to hold on to her or to protect her was of secondary importance for the moment.  
"Nevermore," the young witches yelled again and again into the storm until it suddenly disappeared.  
Sam blinked and realized that he was again the only knight left standing. Hesitantly, he let Romy go, but now she slung an arm around him and, in response to a brief nod of the sages, she pulled him with her. Stumbling, he followed her and finally found himself on a kind of terrace.  
The night air was cool and refreshing compared to the air in the hall and he breathed in and out deeply a few times. Romy stroked her ruffled hair from her face, her fingers trembling.  
"The last reprimand you have to take unanswered?" Sam asked quietly as she felt a scratch on her cheek. She nodded.  
"You knights have that too, don't you?"  
Now he nodded. For a moment they silently looked at each other, then she raised her hand and brushed her fingertips over his torn cheek.  
"Nevermore," she said quietly, almost contemptuously. He grabbed her wrist.  
"Nevermore," he confirmed, and then the world turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First song: "Wytches Brew" by Omnia  
second song taken and translated from "Nimmermehr" by Bannkreis


	15. Friends or Brothers or Lovers or Whatever

Sam's happy dream, in which he reunited with his siblings Ginevra and Gordon, turned into a nightmare when the two of them threw themselves at him in exuberance and he began to suffocate in their embrace. He gasped for air, caught a whiff of spicy vanilla and then Romy sighed softly from the background:   
"He belongs to me."   
With a kind of grunt he opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. Romy- dressed and already styled- had rolled up half beside him, half on his naked chest, one hand on his shoulder, the other under her cheek.   
"He belongs to me..." she sighed again and her fingers twitched at his shoulder.   
"Romy...?" Irritated, because he found himself in her bed, he carefully touched her arm. She jerked up, accidentally caught his stomach with her elbow which made him grunt again, and squeaked in fright.   
"Great Mother! Sorry, I-" They blinked at each other in irritation and then she yawned heartily. "My goodness..." she muttered.   
"Everything's all right...?" Sam wanted to know carefully and was relieved to find that he was at least wearing underpants under the thin blanket.   
"Yes. Yes, everything's fine. I'm just..." She made an indefinable wagging gesture.   
"Ah," he still made confused, she nodded.

"Could you... could you explain to me what that was last night? I mean..." he started after a moment of silence and raised a brow questioningly.   
"What exactly do you mean?"   
"Everything."   
"Everything is quite a far-reaching term."   
"Yes, I know, but..." He sat up, ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Okay... What exactly did the sages do to Erik?"   
"They inspected him. As Jocelyn's husband, he later becomes prince consort and father of the future queen. The runes they carved into his skin express their consent. I think I'll have to congratulate Jocelyn." She added the last sentence a little quieter, almost reluctantly.   
"Why?"   
"Oh, all thirteen sages have given their consent, that's extremely rare."   
"Ah." Sam nodded. "Because of the jurisdiction..."   
Romy made a face.   
"Why were the rapists punished differently? What's so different about a witch?"   
"Because in most cases a vulnerable witch breaks apart at such a treatment. And a broken witch is a danger to herself and her environment, especially if not only her connection to her own magic is destroyed, but also her mind." She shook her head. "Witches serve the land, they protect it. But a broken witch can spoil the land, poison it." She must have seen something in his face, because she added: "It's not like a witch is worth more than a simple woman, don't get me wrong. We value all women."   
The tiny pause she made was not enough to formulate another question.   
"How do you punish rapists?"   
"Uh... ten years in prison and two fingers. If it's a child or gets the woman pregnant, fifteen years and the whole hand," Sam replied slowly because he recalled the heavy court books. "Officially, at least. Often it runs out on vigilante justice and then the same thing happens as here - in the simplest case a rape, in the worst case a castration."   
"Ten years in prison and two fingers are not a particularly severe punishment," Romy remarked critically. Sam shrugged.   
"Convicted criminals are cared for in prison only to the extent that they stay alive. They or their families have to pay for everything else."   
Now Romy nodded thoughtfully, but still not convinced. Then she sighed quietly. "I feel sorry for the man who didn't want to get divorced. Mother probably only called him for amusement."   
"That's cruel."   
"I know. Cruel and wrong. But mother sometimes has such impulses..." A somewhat unfortunate expression scurried over her face and Sam thought to himself that Ellie must have her moods from somewhere.   
"What about the witch stuff afterwards?"   
She wrinkled her nose. "Don't be so snide. These are all ancient rituals. Every year in the King's Month, the Queen invites thirteen witches shortly before the ritual of maturity, that's a great honour."   
"If you're not a princess."   
"If you're not a princess," she agreed and sighed. "The knights of adult witches are respected men and can have a lot of influence, but they are still reminded that they must serve their witch. To show their devotion, they sacrifice a part of themselves, so to speak."   
"Not quite voluntarily," Sam remarked dryly.   
"No." Romy sighed, "But it's probably something different every year. A finger, a toe... Lyandras knight had to sacrifice a nipple."   
"Ouch!" Involuntarily Sam's hand twitched to his chest and Romy shrugged.   
"The end should remind us of the old times when witches still lived with their tutors and at the end, when they had completed the ritual, fought each other to start their own lives. _What is yours is mine_ refers to knowledge and the like, but symbolically something was also stolen - a book or ingredients or something similar and the young witch was thrown out."   
The explanation made Sam smile a little. "We only have to endure a ritual slap in the face."   
Again she shrugged. "No one pretended it was easy to become or be a witch."   
"And yet you are proud to be one," he remarked lightly.   
"Right now, I'm proud of you." She paused in shock when she noticed her words and turned red.   
"Really?" He raised a brow and was not sure whether he should be amused or worried.   
"You... you gave a good impression," she muttered and slipped out of bed. "Breakfast is served."   
As embarrassed as she was because of the naive compliment, he decided to be amused.

~

Sam's amusement gave way a little later, however, to a deep consternation when he wanted to undergo the obligatory purification after breakfast and it didn't even begin to work. He could almost feel the magic inside of him after the intense evening, and he wriggled nervously and with shame before going to Romy, who brooded over widely spread papers and magical schemes.   
"Um... Romy..." His voice was just a whisper.   
"Hmm?" she made absent. When he searched for words, she sighed annoyed.   
"Great Mother Earth, speak." She turned to him and immediately narrowed her eyebrows critically. With her fingertips she stroked the cut on his cheek, looked into his eyes and then said: "Pants down". He knew this tone and obeyed immediately. She looked at him there as well and then stormed away.   
"Come with me!"   
Hurrying to pull up his pants again, he stumbled after her and caught up as she was in the corridor in front of her apartment.   
"In there," she ordered and pointed to a door in the corridor opposite. "Jonas," she yelled, and he felt the magic resonating in her voice.   
"Get in there," she repeated. "Sit down and wait, I'll bring you a potion."   
"Um..." Before he could say any more, she was gone again. Hesitantly he opened the door and blinked in amazement. He was standing in a cosy living room, very similar to Romy's, only much smaller and in darker colours.   
Slowly he sat down on a couch and waited.

A little eternity later, Romy came back. On a tray she brought two cups, one of which steamed. She handed it to him and then placed the tray on the small side table.   
"I should have taken better care of you," she muttered.   
"What's going on?" he wanted to know and sipped carefully on the steaming liquid. It was hot and disgustingly sweet.   
"You've accumulated too much magic. I know," she immediately stopped his protest, "the purification was fine. I'm not sure what the problem is, but I'll find out. Now drink." Carefully, to not burn his mouth, he drank the sweet potion and then took the second cup. It wasn't even half full and the liquid smelled alcoholic.   
"What exactly is that?"   
"Drink."   
Sighing, he rushed down the stuff which was spicy and bitter. "Ugh."   
"The first is a supportive of detox, the second an aphrodisiac."   
"What?" Sam almost dropped the cup, but Romy already turned to leave. At that moment there was a knock and Jonas entered.   
"Ah, thank you. Come in."   
Sam sat like glued on the couch when two teenagers entered and smiled happily at him.   
"Take good care of him."   
"Very well, Your Highness," said one and bowed, while the other already crossed the room and sat on the couch next to Sam.   
"Romy, hey, what-"   
The door slammed shut behind her.   
"What the...?"   
The other boy - Sam couldn't call them young men in good conscience - sat on his other side and stroked teasingly over his chest.   
"We'll take good care of you, I promise."   
"B-but..."   
"Shh!" Warm lips stopped his protest and as if that had been a trigger, it suddenly became tight in his pants. Immediately willing hands unlaced the pants and then the aphrodisiac probably reached his brain at the same moment as a second pair of warm lips closed around his penis because he sighed pleasantly and couldn't suppress a smile.

~

Sam had been instructed to exhale the magic by sweating and drinking high amounts of water, and with trembling muscles, sweaty and deeply exhausted, he entered the bathhouse of the barracks. The general part was well attended, but the area for the Queen's Guard was empty.   
Well, except for Franz, who dozed in the warm water.   
"Hey you..." Sam greeted him carefully and Franz opened his eyes.   
"Hey..." He was pale, seemed tired and almost a little out. Before Sam found any shallow topic of conversation, Franz already asked, while Sam let himself slide into the water:   
"Since when are circumcisions in Whitehill courteous?"   
"Rather ask which books Romy has read. She thought it was disgusting and wanted it off." He preferred not to mention what she had done afterwards - the thought still made him sick. At least it elicited a giggle from Franz.   
"Maybe she would have been happier with a female knight."   
"Who knows?" Sam shrugged. "But why are you actually here sitting in the water?"   
"Ellie healed me, what else?" Franz looked at him in amazement. Surprised, Sam looked back.   
"This bitch of a witch actually told me _what's off, you can't heal_."   
"Well, it's still a wound."   
"Bitch."   
"Aren't they all?"   
Sam preferred to say nothing about it, but took a sponge out of a bowl to wash himself.

They remained silent for quite a while, but it was a pleasant silence, and the warm water did the rest. Finally Sam said:   
"Are we going to eat together? I'm starving."   
"Sounds good..." said Franz with false enthusiasm and Sam, who had already half climbed out of the basin, turned half around.   
"Everything all right?"   
Obviously it wasn't, but Franz nodded.   
"You don't have to lie to-" The rest of the sentence remained stuck in Sam's throat when he saw Franz out of the water. His body was strewn with bruises and marks, almost all less than a week old.   
"Great Mother..."   
Franz's face took on a hard look. "Do you remember your words? Fight back. That's the result."   
"You... I..." Speechless, Sam stared at him, but Franz left to dry off and get dressed. Shaken, Sam followed him and did the same, feelings of guilt gnawed at him, but he found no words.

"Do you still want to get something to eat?" Franz wanted to know then, his voice quiet and expressionless.   
"Yes," Sam replied and made a decision. They had hardly left the bath house when Franz was already protesting.   
"That's the wrong direction, Sam."   
"No, it is not. Come on."   
Sighing, Franz followed him through the castle. When they turned a corner at some point, they almost ran into Jonas.   
"Oh! Hey... um... Jonas..."   
"Samson."   
"Could you... could you bring us dinner? To the, uh, dark dining room."   
Jonas raised a brow, but nodded. "Of course."   
"Thank you."   
When Jonas was out of earshot, Franz asked quietly:   
"Isn't that Romy's personal servant?"   
"Yes, why?"   
"And he takes orders from you?"   
"That wasn't an order, it was a request."   
"Yes, but..." Franz searched for words, but by then they had already reached their destination and Sam opened the door.   
"You can't just invite me into Romy's rooms," Franz protested immediately as he looked through the door into the room behind.   
"They are... yes, well, they are her rooms, but not her actual ones. So come on in, my goodness." Sam grabbed Franz by the arm and dragged him with him before pressing him onto a couch.   
"Are you sleeping here now?" Franz wanted to know and looked around while Sam sat down as well. His stomach grumbled loudly.   
"No. Romy only made the rooms available to me this morning, but asked me to continue sleeping in the lab."   
"You sleep there voluntarily?"   
"Not really, but the corner I'm entitled to has become quite comfortable." He grinned, but Franz just seemed amazed. "Not every witch treats her knights like shit," Sam said quietly, because with Franz's face his grin quickly passed.   
"No..." Franz said quietly and looked around again, "obviously not..."   
A somewhat unpleasant silence arose, then Franz went up and looked at a bookshelf to examine the spines.   
"You will marry her, won't you?" he asked after a moment in passing.   
"What?"   
"Like Erik and Jocelyn."   
"No. No, why should I?" Sam was confused. Romy as his wife was the last thing he needed.   
"You grew up in a castle, Sam, just like me. You know what these rooms are," Franz said with a suppressed sigh. Over the back of the couch, Sam looked at him with big eyes. "These are the rooms for her future husband."   
Sam blinked, then he snorted. Franz was absolutely right, but before he could say anything, Franz continued.   
"By the way, Ellie is happy that you will take Romy with you to Whitehill."   
"Why?"   
"You're teaching her politics, aren't you? You're preparing her to become your queen."   
Sam got a giggle attack. The thought was so absurd that he sounded a little hysterical, and he couldn't stop when two servants brought in dinner.   
"Sam..."   
"I'm sorry..." Sam took a deep breath and rubbed his face, then stood up and pointed invitingly to dinner. Franz nodded. They sat down and began to eat, but already after two bites Sam sighed softly.   
"You know... when father sent me out, I was determined to go to Sunplains."   
"Kyaine. Why didn't you come?" Franz shoved a piece of roast into his mouth and looked questioningly at him across the table, but Sam poked around in his baked cauliflower.   
"I wanted to court Daisy..." he muttered. Franz snorted.   
"First she would have bawled you because you dared to call her _Daisy_, and then she would have dragged you right to the altar."   
Sam looked up and noticed Franz' amusement in surprise.   
"Dear Desiree was about to stage a kidnapping so you could come and save her."   
"Seriously?" Sam asked in amazement.   
"She had a crush on you since she discovered her interest in boys, Sam. Why do you think she always spent a summer or winter with you? Certainly not because of Sarah-Jane or Ginevra." Franz still shook his head amused, then his smile became strangely loving. "As for women, you're a hopeless case, my friend."   
"We could have been brothers..."   
"We would have been." Franz nodded. "And then we probably both wouldn't be here."   
"Great Mother..." Sam mumbled silently and rubbed his forehead. When his stomach loudly demanded attention, Franz gently nudged him.   
"Eat."   
Mechanically, Sam began to eat as his thoughts wandered far west, to Sunplains, to their carefree days as teenagers, where the annoying siblings were a constant source of quarrels. Back to the hot summer days and lukewarm summer nights, back to the strange behavior of the girls who suddenly acted as if they were grown-up, back to Franz and his knight jokes, and back to the secret satisfaction for Sam himself to develop a male figure much earlier and more pronounced than Franz due to his squire training.   
The thought, however, led Sam to raise his gaze from his almost empty plate and look at Franz. He was pale and thin, although he had never been the sturdiest.   
"I'm sorry," Sam broke the silence.   
"Hmm?"   
"I... I should have taken care of you. As a knight-"   
"Fiddlesticks!" Franz made a quick movement with his hand. "As for Henry, you don't have to blame yourself."   
"But I should have been a better friend to you."   
"No, Sam. It is my fault that our friendship got a crack. If that hadn't happened, maybe you would have come straight to Kyaine and we'd be sitting together on the terrace drinking tea while Desiree and Gabrielle compare baby bellies. I am sorry. Believe me."   
"But-"   
"I can count the weeks left to me, Sam, so let's be honest."   
Suddenly Sam couldn't sit still and he jumped up, paced through the room and ran through his hair with both hands.   
"Sam..."   
But Sam couldn't think clearly. Suddenly it was all too much.   
"Sam."   
The future that could have been hurt.   
"Sam!"   
Sam paused and almost immediately Franz wrapped his arms around him from behind.   
"Franz..." The hug was good and Sam relaxed a little bit.   
"Remember the night Benedict almost broke your arm?"   
"How could I forget?" Sam snorted and Franz giggled. "Your brother was already half a bear when he was seventeen."   
"Yes, and you drank more wine than we were allowed."   
"And I was stupid, I know."   
"Not stupid, just an arrogant drunken squire." Franz giggled and Sam sighed.   
"Are you already starting with your knight jokes again?"   
Franz giggled again and gave Sam a kiss in the neck that made him shiver. "You're the only knight I can mock without danger to life and limb." While Sam sighed annoyed, Franz continued to distribute kisses on his neck and let his hand slide down.   
"Franz...", Sam said warningly, but apparently there was still some of the aphrodisiac in him, because his body reacted almost immediately to the gentle touch. "Don't..." he murmured and stretched his neck at the same time as Franz gently nibbled on it.

And then moments later, for the second time that day, he found himself sitting down with a man on his lap. Franz almost had something desperate about him, kissing Sam from above, demanding and greedy. He kept mumbling Sam's name, followed sometime by a:   
"Take me."   
Sam's fingernails drilled into Franz's hip. "No." He pushed him away and looked at him darkly, although he had liked kissing and was a little breathless.   
"I-," Franz began, but Sam interrupted him immediately.   
"No. As much as you may wish for it- no."   
Franz looked at him for an unpleasantly long moment, then he nodded with a fine smile. "Okay. Okay. Then... then let's be shy, innocent fifteen again, yeah?"   
Sam's hesitation made Franz' smile slip until he looked as if he was about to burst into tears.   
"Okay..." Sam finally said quietly. "Okay..."   
And then he stood up with Franz in his arms, who gave a frightened, girlish sound. "Great Mother..."   
"I can fight dragons for hours in full armour, so I can carry a pipsqueak like you."   
"Hey!"   
He got a pat on the shoulder. "Shall I drop you?"   
Franz sulked. "No."   
"See... "

~

It was the happy expression on Franz's face that prevented Sam from being excessively ashamed the next morning. Romy didn't comment on what had happened either and instead chased Sam through the castle for most of the day. At dinner she kept quiet most of the time until she asked:   
"When is your birthday?"   
"In the End Month, why?"   
"When exactly?"   
He sighed. "Three days before the longest night."   
She nodded thoughtfully. "You'll be twenty-five?"   
"Twenty-six."   
She distorted her face minimally.   
"What, am I too old for you?" he mocked and she rolled her eyes.   
"It's about symbolism, Samson."   
"And what's so bad about a twenty-six?"   
"Nothing. But twenty-five is a quarter century and would mean two years between us. The duality of existence is immensely important."   
"Then wait until your next birthday."   
"No. In the Star Month there is a constellation of stars that I like. My calculations for the period are extremely positive."   
"Star Month? That's almost half a year!"   
"And you've only been here three months. Some knights go through a much longer preparation time."   
"Oh Great Mother..." he murmured and pushed the plate with the remains of vegetable-whatever away.   
"When you're done, go play." She chased him away with a wagging movement of her hand.   
"I'm not a child anymore!"   
"Just do what knights do in their spare time. I can't use you in the lab now."   
He swallowed a rude remark and went for a walk.

~

After wandering around a little, he found Owen in a room that wasn't really a room, but must have been the crenellated top of a thick tower a long time ago. He stood there in the warm evening air, holding a wineskin in his hand, and turned when Sam joined him.   
"You stole wine again."   
Owen shrugged. "Franz is busy with Ellie and Henry has been sent out to do some errands this morning, he won't be back until tomorrow night." Demonstratively, Owen took a sip and then held out the wineskin to Sam, who grabbed it without protest.   
"Bah, that stuff is disgusting."   
Again Owen shrugged. "Better than nothing, right? Besides, I'm bored."   
Sam sighed and took another sip before giving the wine back to Owen.   
"What about you?" Owen asked between two sips.   
"Romy sent me out to play," Sam grumbled. Owen laughed heartily.   
"That's exactly what we're doing."   
"By drinking stolen wine?"   
"We aren't children anymore..." Owen winked at him and Sam critically raised a brow before taking another sip of wine.   
"Really, that stuff is awful... it makes you sick, but not drunk."   
"To have or not to have, Sam."   
"Well, I think I have..."   
"What do you have?"   
"Better wine. Which isn't very difficult."   
"Oh, in your private suite or what? Yeah, yeah, Franz told me about it. Come on, or do you want to drink it alone?"

It didn't take long and only needed two shared bottles of a heavy dark wine, then Sam was already a drunken giggling bundle. The aforementioned human bundle was carried half to bed by Owen, half dragged.   
"Dude, you're a damn lot heavier than you look."   
"Hey...", Sam protested, grabbed the bedpost and swung around, so he plumped on the bed. "With all the vegetables, I can't be that heavy."   
"But you are. Do you want to sleep in your clothes or do you manage to undress?" Owen didn't sound half as drunk as Sam felt, and his caring tone made Sam giggle even more. He reached for the lacing of his shirt, but before he could pull it properly, Owen sighed already.   
"Let me do it." He fumbled the knot and muttered: "You princes are all the same. You can't stand anything, you can't change your clothes on your own and you have to be looked after all the time."   
"You like to do that," Sam threw in and fought to get the shirt over his head. Owen sighed again, this time almost lovingly.   
"That's right."   
"Damn it..." The seams cracked, but then Sam could throw the shirt away. He proudly looked at Owen.   
"How old are you, five?"   
Sam's mood sank.   
"Oh, Great Mother, just hold still, okay?"   
Sam nodded and Owen undressed him, occasionally giving grumpy instructions. Then Sam lay naked across the bed, wishing the world wouldn't sway all over.   
"Sam?"   
"Hmm?" He slightly raised his head to look at Owen looking down at him.   
"Should I go?"   
"No", Sam said certain, "No, stay."   
"Okay." Owen undressed and then climbed into bed with Sam. "Don't bother giving some space."   
"That's easy for you to say. The bed swings like a ship in a storm and I drop out right away," Sam replied, who had meanwhile grabbed the sheet. Snorting, Owen took Sam's arm aside and stretched out.   
"You can hold on to me if you want."   
"Then we both go overboard."   
"Have you ever been on a real ship?"   
"No," Sam admitted and had to giggle silly again. He wrapped his arms around Owen and held on to him. "You're a good anchor."   
"Dude, stop it with the stupid metaphors... you're worse than Gavin... "   
But Sam giggled in Owen's shoulder and buried a hand in his red hair. "Does that mean you like me better?"   
"No, the Great Mother prevents it! But I undoubtedly like blond..."   
Sam giggled even more and Owen sighed with a smile.   
"Have you ever been with a woman?"   
"At the same time in the kitchen? Sure."   
"Idiot." Sam gave him a pat.   
"I know. One of my virtues. But yeah, I've slept with women before."   
"What is it like?"   
"What, Daddy didn't explain it to you?"   
"Well, I know the theory..." Sam was really too drunk to be ashamed right now.   
"I like men better," Owen explained, and before Sam could ask, he added: "That's equality, you know. You can either use your dick or get fucked and a woman can't."   
"Hmm," Sam thought, "there's something to it."   
"Yes, a dick." Owen laughed quietly and Sam giggled. Their hands met at navel height, but Owen took Sam's hand and pressed it over his head onto the pillow before moving his own hand down again and mutely streaking Sam's inner thigh for a moment.   
Then Owen smiled sluggishly, moved a bit so that he could whisper Sam into the ear, and asked: "So you know the theory?"   
Sam shuddered and nodded, but he almost didn't hear anything from Owen's practical experience report, because his fingers caressed and kneaded gently and were somehow everywhere but never where Sam wanted them at that very moment, but when he had just managed to make a miserable protest, Owen began to kiss him and he just sighed comfortably.

"No, Sam, you're too drunk," Owen mumbled on Sam's neck and Sam sighed softly before he opened his eyes.   
"What, no?" Even before Owen answered, however, Sam understood what Owen meant. The redhead was above him, privates to privates, and Sam had his legs half wrapped around him.   
"You're too drunk," Owen repeated gently and pressed Sam at the hip back onto the bed.   
"You wouldn't hurt me, not like Henry."   
Something was scurrying over Owen's face, then he said gently, but definitely: "No, I wouldn't. Still, ask me when you're sober again."   
"Okay..."   
Nevertheless, a short moment of discomfort arose, then Owen slipped next to Sam and kissed him tenderly, a hand on his cheek.   
"Tell me what you like," Owen whispered and Sam muttered back:   
"I don't know..."   
At the moment he wanted everything and nothing, wanted to be touched, wanted to kiss, wanted to feel safe and protected in Owen's strong arms and simply be _Sam_, without title and duties and ties. And he would have sucked other things than Owen's finger in that moment, while Owen nibbled on Sam's nipple in return. His body feeling was completely upside down and he shuddered comfortably as a warm wave spread in his lower belly that ebbed away far too quickly.   
"Do you like this?" Owen mumbled rough.   
"Yes... oh..." A second little wave. "Oh, yeah... that's nice..." Sam sighed and smiled.   
"Good."   
Sam sighed, but then his muscles tightened and he half understood what Owen was doing. "What..." Owen's finger in him moved and triggered another wave, "what are you doing?"   
"I'm going to show you why I like sex with men so much..." Owen murmured and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. "You know, you just have to say stop..."

Sam protested quietly, but he didn't say stop. The feeling was just too awesome, too gentle and he almost regretted the fireworks-like orgasm. Gasping for air, he said:   
"Never do that again."   
Owen's answer was a long smiling kiss.   
"Fuck you..." Sam mumbled a little angrily, but Owen just mumbled:   
"That's exactly what I'm going to do." He kissed Sam again while he was doing himself and with a grunt he added his portion to the sticky mess on Sam's belly.

Sam awoke nestled in Owen's crook of the arm while the redhead snored blissfully. Carefully he sat up and then suppressed an outcry, because Romy stood at the foot of the bed and scrutinized him critically.   
"That reminds me again why I depilated you."   
With a racing heart Sam took a quick look at Owen's hairy chest. Romy sighed and under her gaze Sam blushed deeply.   
"Note to myself: never again aphrodisiac for Samson."


	16. Halloween can also be different than just commerce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing exciting, but some thoughts and feelings...

"I don't understand you. You have all sorts of comforts and still complain."   
"They are whores, Owen, male whores! And I hate having to be touched by them."   
"Foreign stimulation does help a lot. And since you've obviously been borderline in terms of accumulated magic, you won't be able to get around it now."   
Sam sighed annoyed and leaned his forehead against the cold damp stone of the strange tower room into which he withdrew with Owen to talk. He regularly received the sweet potion as support for magical detoxification, and once a week the visit of the two teenagers was forced upon him. Not that he would despise a good blowjob (or two), but he didn't really want it and the two did it only for money.   
"If Romy had a second knight, you'd have to make do with him," Owen continued after a pause.   
"I know..." Sam murmured and rubbed his face. "I know..."   
"Then what's the problem? I mean, I assume you want to keep your balls intact." Owen leaned on the other side of the former pinnacle and looked at Sam questioningly, who was sighing and running his fingers through his hair - it had become long.   
"I don't want any of this. Not like that. It's forced and dictated upon me and... and... I don't want a schedule for masturbating and blowjobs and all that."   
"And what do you want?" Owen asked, almost provocatively.   
It was a good question.

To roll up protectively around Romy during her moontime felt good, but to wake up like that was strange.   
Her cool ignorance of his concerns and some of his needs was contrasted by the gentleness with which she treated him, when the often hour-long maltreatment with magic and runes and the like was finally over.   
They learned from each other and as far as the preparations in the laboratory were concerned, Sam understood her in the meantime without many words, while Romy, on the other hand, in many things, didn't seem so out of touch with the world anymore.   
If Sam was honest and tried to look at it from a distance, they had an almost friendly relationship, which was supported by the fact that she kept reminding him of Ginevra.   
And with a shiver he thought of the few days- it had only been two weeks ago- she had been gone for some errands: it had been terrible, he had never felt so sick and restless, driven by the knowledge that he wasn't there to protect her, so lonely and empty without the constant presence of her magic. However, Romy had probably felt the same way, just as she had predicted, for when she came back she threw herself into his arms as if they were forcibly separated lovers.   
It was the best embrace of his life.   
And the most terrible when he thought that she had forced this magical dependence upon him.   
On the other hand, he thought a lot of Jocelyn and not only desired her, but worshipped her (even though he didn't realize it until Owen and Franz repeatedly rubbed it under his nose).   
He had no idea what to do with himself, his thoughts and feelings and wishes.

"I think...", he finally said slowly, "I think I want a woman. One I can love."   
Owen nodded thoughtfully. "You know that's not Jocelyn."   
"Of course I know that. But the human mind doesn't always work logically. Great Mother, Owen, you know as well as I do where we're stuck."   
"Even if Ruby and your father had married you, you would have had to take Erik's place in the ritual. At least I think so."   
"Yes, probably." Sighing, Sam looked over to the lights of Balius. Not for the first time did he wish he wasn't born as Crown Prince of Whitehill. "But Romy hurts me. Jocelyn doesn't."   
Now Owen sighed, very long and very deep. "Nobody told you to love Romy."   
"I know. I know, but so much feels at the same time so right and so wrong. Whereby... actually rather wrong..." He sounded a little miserable. Probably more than just a _little_ miserable, because Owen stepped up to him and wrapped his arms around him. Sighing again, Sam leaned against the redhead. He knew Owen wasn't invincible, he beat him himself often enough in training, but at moments like this he felt absolutely safe and protected.   
"Why do you always make me feel like one of those princesses in distress?" he muttered.   
"What, do you feel threatened by me?" Owen asked back amused.   
"No, on the contrary."   
Owen's quiet laughter vibrated in both of them. And then Sam was suddenly pushed against the wall and had Owen's predatory smile in front of him.   
"Maybe you feel like a princess because you want to be filled out just like them, huh?"   
Sam shot the blood so hard into his head that Owen was the only thing holding him up for a moment. Owen had teased him with it every now and then, but soberly it was out of the question for Sam - if he was drunk and the idea didn't seem so spoiled to him anymore, Owen didn't even make such offers.   
He swallowed hard. How long would it take until he was desperate and disturbed enough by the overall situation to indulge in fully-fledged sex with a man? Probably not much longer. Unconsciously he made himself a little small and then raised his head to kiss Owen. It was the most natural thing in the world that he gave Owen dominance.

They kissed for a while, with Owen clearly teasing and provoking Sam, but in a loving way. It was a wonderful moment which was suddenly interrupted by Owen's suffocated chirping. He crouched down, one hand at his crotch.   
"Owen?" Confused, Sam blinked at him.   
"Ellie calls for me. She's in a terribly bad mood." Owen almost whimpered and then took a shivering breath.   
"Let's go..." Sam said quickly and grabbed Owen's arm to support him.

~

"We've been looking for you for hours," Ellie jangled as they turned a corner near Romy's apartments. She was wearing an elegant black dress, which gave her an unusual dignified look. Romy next to her was also wearing all black, but shirt, trousers and a strange vest, and her hair was not tucked on like usual, but strictly braided. She looked incredibly pale.   
"Sorry, we've lost track of time," Sam said cautiously, but Ellie interrupted him with a wee gesture.   
"Come," was all Romy said quietly, and worried, he let Owen go to follow her.

"Change, we're late," she said then, still quietly as they entered the dressing room. On the dresser, which contained his sparse selection of clothes, things were ready for him.   
"What exactly did we forget?"   
"Tonight is the Night of the Dead."   
"Oh... Damn." Right, they had talked about it. There would be a sort of banquet to which a bunch of nobles were invited. "Sorry, really." Hurriedly he undressed and slipped into the things that had been prepared. To his amazement, Romy came up to him and laced his shirt while he was busy with his pants, and when he tied his belt with the dagger, she buttoned his vest.   
"I can do this alone, you know?"   
Wordlessly she stopped and took a step back. Something about her irritated him, but he couldn't put it into words.

~

In Whitehill, the Night of the Dead was a celebration of mourning. Apparently not in Darkmoore and so Sam only noticed in the dining room how inappropriate Romys depressed mood was. Of course, everyone wore black, the room was decorated in black and white, but overall there was a certain cheerfulness. And only in comparison with all the other nobles did he realize that Romy's dress style was strikingly masculine, because until now she had always worn a dress for such matters. They were barely through the door when she released him and hurried to another young witch and grabbed her hand. That Romy was a good head taller made the comparison with a man even more vivid.

Confused, Sam wandered through the room and stopped in front of a pumpkin on a hip-high column. It had apparently been hollowed out, with holes in the skin and a candle in it.   
"Is there no such thing in Whitehill?"   
He flinched when Jocelyn suddenly stood next to him. "Such... lanterns? No. Which meaning do they have?"   
"They say pumpkins ripen when the rest of the plant has died. That's nonsense, of course, but it makes the pumpkin a symbol of the connection between life and death. We set up these lanterns to welcome the spirits to the feast."   
Sam nodded thoughtfully. "In Whitehill we mourn that night. We have empty plates on the tables, an empty made-up bed in the house and honey cake in the living room."   
"We celebrate to show the dead that we have enough food for the winter and that we don't die of grief. We remind the dead that there is joy in the world. But we also have empty places and beds." Jocelyn smiled at him and nodded to the long table. "The honey cake is part of the feast and afterwards we hear a special funeral mass."   
Sam nodded again. "We have a kind of procession to the church, with a symbolic dead."   
"This must seem inappropriately cheerful to you," Jocelyn remarked after a moment of reflection, just when someone laughed out loud.   
"A little," he admitted. "But everyone feels death differently and it is not my place to judge foreign traditions."   
She tilted her head in agreement and at that moment a muffled gong sounded, calling for dinner.

Again Sam was amazed because there was apparently no seating arrangement and he had to hurry to get a seat next to Romy. On his other side sat an older knight, opposite him a young knight who apparently belonged to the young witch Romy had talked to and who now sat opposite her.   
The two talked about the effect of a gemstone in different dosage forms and Sam caught the slightly desperate gaze of his fellow sufferer. That elicited a helpless smile from him, and then he sighed as the servants applied the food- vegetables in abundance.   
He shouldn't have been surprised by the casualness of Darkmoore, but he was, however, when everyone simply reached out and helped themselves. He could understand that at a family dinner, but at a feast this size in Whitehill there were servants standing between the guests and serving the food. Here, however, Romy spooned the already familiar pumpkin and rice dish onto his plate and the young knight handed his witch a cabbage roll.   
"Would you like some?"   
Sam nodded and took hold in a hurry when he was handed the bowl. Not that he was a fan of chestnut-filled cabbage rolls, but the alternatives were not necessarily better. He would surely not touch the mashed potatoes and Franz had warned him about the strange yellowish leaves, he didn't like the bog hyacinths and what looked like fried blossoms had tasted disgusting on the first try.   
Romy interrupted her conversation and bent over a little to him. "You should try the dumplings." Unabashed, she pointed with her fork to a plate which had just been put down.   
"Okay..." he murmured and took one of the dumplings, which was half the size of his palm and clearly bulged. The sight of the filling as he cut it open gave him hope and then he sighed. Spinach and minced meat and spicy cheese - it was brilliant.   
"I think I found my new favourite dish," he explained with a full mouth and saw the corner of Romy's mouth twitching while the other witch openly laughed. In the meantime he had realized that this was Romy's equivalent of a smile, and he decided to elicit a _real_ smile from her at some point. Perhaps, he thought, chewing, he should put that on his priority list right after _survival_; then he had a meaningful and actively attainable goal.

After dinner, the tables were completely emptied. An older witch stood up and said a kind of grace, then gave a second short speech in witch language. When she was finished, servants carried in huge plates and Sam was amazed again- out of something a skeleton had been formed and painted white.   
"This is honey cake," the knight told him amusedly. "Don't you know it?"   
"Not in this form..." Sam slowly replied.   
"Where are you from?" Romy's witch friend asked.   
"Whitehill. The honey cakes we have are either flat and firm like biscuits, or thick muddy tartlets."   
"Oh."   
"I know the cookies," the knight said and nodded. "With a little more spice, we'll have them at the turn of the year."   
Sam nodded in agreement and smiled weakly. They got new plates and then a small bowl with a yellowish cream was handed to everyone.   
"That's a honey cream, terribly sweet," Romy explained and nodded to Sam invitingly. Carefully he took a thigh-bone from the plate - luckily the pastry was firm enough not to break apart. But on the other hand it would with the icing - he assumed it was some kind of icing - and the honey cream be extremely heavy.   
"Would you like to share? I think I'm sick of it afterwards," he turned to Romy. She blushed and nodded. A little irritated, he broke the pastry in two and handed her one, in return she spread the honey cream on his half. From the corner of his eye he saw how several witch-knight couples handled it the same way and he was almost relieved that he had instinctively acted correctly. However, he could refrain from feeding his witch like the two opposite him. Romy seemed satisfied anyway.

After the honey cake, the table was cleared and small cups of spicy tea were served. Sam was so stuffed after the cake, however, that he stayed seated and stirred his tea while he watched Romy step up to a window and look out. Again she seemed very depressed and Sam wondered if she was grieving and if so, for whom.

~

The palace chapel was located in a part of the castle that Sam hadn't explored yet (which wasn't too difficult given the gigantic size of the castle) and was just big enough for the party. Together with Romy, Ellie, Franz, Jocelyn and Erik he sat in the first row of benches, while Ruby and some other witches knelt on thick prayer pillows directly in front of the altar. It was a high priest who held a slightly modified Mass of the Dead so seriously that Sam sat there stiffly, almost expecting wet cold fingers to touch his neck at any moment. The sermon that followed was no less serious and so factually about the cycle of life that one got the impression that having children was nothing more than buying a horse.

Meanwhile, the Great Mother smiled down on them all, a wreath of flowers on her head and a sheaf of grain in her arm, with some bird sitting on her left shoulder.   
"... since the duality of being is everywhere. We all carry it within us. For what lives must eventually die, and so we complete the cycle."   
Sam really tried to listen, but he was full and he was tired and the walls of the chapel were so elaborately painted with flowers and blossoms and animals that his eyes just didn't want to stick to the figure of the high priest in his white robes. To his left sat Erik, who also seemed dozy, and to his right Romy, who had been leaning against him for some time and had begun to play with his fingers at some point. He could almost imagine it was Gordon and Ginevra next to him, Father Vincent standing in front and after mass he would get a reprimand from his mother because he hadn't listened properly.   
Probably it was the final prayer that saved both Sam and some others from falling asleep.   
_"The Great Mother created the world and everything that lives in it. She gives and she takes, she blesses and she curses. We come from her and we go to her. And so we thank the Great Mother for all we have, for all we are."_   
They all stood up and after one last blessing gesture of the high priest all hurried out to the icy fresh air where people wished each other a good night and demanded not to put the wrong spirit in a bottle.

Silently, Sam and Romy returned to the apartments and Sam almost stumbled over his own feet in the end from tiredness. He changed his clothes with agitated movements and then paused on the way back when he saw Romy still sitting fully dressed on her bed. She held something in her hands and stared at it lost in thought, but under his gaze she looked up.   
"You can talk to me if you want," he offered her quietly and she nodded.   
"I know. Thank you."   
He stood there a moment hesitating, then he nodded and was already half out of the door when she said soundlessly:   
"Ruben. My twin brother's name was Ruben. He died before we were even one year old, but I can feel him out there. It's like he's waiting for me somewhere."   
Amazed and at the same time unsure what to say, Sam turned to her again. "Maybe he doesn't wait, but watches you," he finally said carefully. "Brothers take care of their sisters."   
She nodded and wiped her eyes before sobbing softly. The sound almost broke Sam's heart and he sat down next to her, took her in his arms and held her while she sobbed on his shoulder until she couldn't even hold on to him from exhaustion.   
Carefully he helped her out of her stiff jacket and heavy vest, patiently unlaced her high boots and peeled her out of her pants as she fought her way out of her shirt. Only in underwear strange to Sam's eyes did she climb into bed and reached for the thick blanket, but as he turned to leave she gently patted next to her. While he was still hesitating, tears rolled down her cheeks again and he suppressed a sigh.   
Why was he just one of those men who let tears soften him?   
But he got into bed with her, held her in his arms and let her cry again in his already wet shirt.   
In the constant glow of the unquenched lantern he finally began to hum an old lullaby.   
Romy mourned for her brother and since he as a brother would set half the world on fire for his siblings, well, he could also be a comfort pillow for his witch for one night.


	17. Talking is silver, but silence is gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little magic, a few upcoming happenings and Romy makes her threat come true - Sam is forced to keep his mouth shut...

Sam closed his eyes. With his upper body naked, he sat astride on the table standing in the pentagram and listened to Romy's noises. The drawer from which she took the special quill, the logs of wood which fell into the fireplace after a magical hint, her shoes she grazed off her feet, the table as she sat on it. He could feel her even before her knees came to rest on his thighs because she sat cross-legged in front of him. As her fingertips stroked over his shoulder to support and hold him, he firmed and steadied his posture as he adjusted internally to the uncomfortable scratching of the quill on his skin. And when it came, he waited for the questions she had been asking about herbs for a while.   
But she remained silent and leaned back noticeably as she completed the first line just below the collarbones. Irritated, he opened his eyes.   
"What's wrong?"   
She stared at his skin, visible satisfaction in her eyes. Frowning, he looked down at himself and was amazed when the runes in his skin shone in the same shade of green as Romy's chain pendant.   
"Is that normal?" he wanted to know carefully.   
"That's what is wanted above all else," she explained and finally looked at him. "It means that your body is now responding to my magic instead of repulsing it. It's still poisonous, but far less dangerous."   
He simply nodded. "You're still sticking to your plans for the Star Month, I suppose."   
"Of course. This just means my calculations were right." She didn't sound as if she had doubted it for a second. "But now I can start preparing for the next step." For a moment she just sat there lost in thought and Sam shook his head internally. There was probably hardly anything other than this ritual in her mind. Then she visibly snapped back into reality and nodded.   
"Let's move on."

Sometime long ago, in another life, when he had been a real knight and prince, he would have died of shame in the present position.   
But now...?   
Now it was Romy sitting astride on the table, and Sam had his legs wrapped around her, trousers and underpants pushed down a bit. He had a pillow under his head and had dozed off as she preferred to remain silent. Accordingly, he was startled when she addressed him.   
"Could you please pull yourself together a bit? I'm trying to work here." With the back of her hand she pushed his semi-erect dick to the side, which of course wasn't impressed and swung back. She made an annoyed noise.   
"You don't usually write so far down..." was the only thing he got out.   
"The last passage wasn't necessary without your answer to magic."   
"I'm sorry...?" But now that he was fully aware of the situation, it only got worse. Her touches, her warm breath... With budding despair he tried to steer his thoughts somewhere where they could counteract, but it was too late. Romy sighed deeply and continued writing. Even the pain, which was stronger in this sensitive area than elsewhere, did not help.   
When she took him in her hand, he was completely unprepared and squealed as she gently pulled it.   
"What...? Hey!"   
The quill paused right above the base of the shaft. "Hmm?"   
"What are you doing?"   
"Oh, I thought I'd leave a greeting for Owen."   
Speechless he stared at her amused sparkling eyes. "This is definitely the wrong moment to develop humor," he hissed and slipped away from her.   
"It would hit Owen's humor, as far as I can tell." She was undoubtedly right.   
"Owen can't read runes."   
"But you can."   
"Are we done then?"   
"We are." She stood up and went over to a worktable to clean the quill as usual and wash her hands while Sam tidied his pants.

"Say", he started and felt his cheeks getting warm at the upcoming question, "would you have preferred a female knight?" Since she turned her back towards him, he could not see her face, but her whole posture stiffened.   
"The nature of the ritual doesn't allow it," was her evasive answer.   
"Duality of being?"   
"Right." Sam had discussed with Franz and Owen whether Romy might be into women, which, if you put all points and her current reaction together, didn't seem so unlikely. He went over to her and leaned demonstratively with folded arms against the worktable. She had turned bright red and suddenly seemed extremely nervous.   
"You didn't answer my question."   
"Oh, I... I... so..." She took a very distinct step away from him. "In my imagination it's a man..." she murmured a little unclearly.   
"It's called fantasies."   
"These are not fantasies!"   
At her outraged look he raised a brow. "But...?"   
She searched for words. "I don't even know how to kiss," she finally said and sounded quite sheepish.   
"Of course not," he said with a patronizing undertone. "According to Darkmoore, you're still a child." Darkly he remembered the short time after his twenty-first birthday when he got on the nerves of his siblings with such things. But Romy straightened herself up to full size and sparkled at him.   
"Do I look like a child?"   
He demonstratively let his gaze wander down and up on her, but before he could make a comment she said:   
"I am twenty-three and definitely an adult woman."   
Smiling, he looked at her. "Adult women can kiss and have fantasies."   
"Oh, and how do you know that?"   
"That's part of adulthood, quite simply."   
She snorted angrily. "So you're trying to explain to me that I have deficits not only in being a princess, but also in being a woman?"   
"Looks like it." The smile turned into a grin and her face darkened a bit further.   
"Then put the subject on the curriculum!"   
"What? Being a woman? I'm sorry, I have no idea about that." Apologizing he shrugged.   
"How about being an adult?" Her voice had a poisonous undertone, although her attitude expressed something completely different.   
"Not my field of responsibility."   
She growled at him and he turned away. She hadn't healed him yet, but he had to pee urgently and on top of that was hungry - there were cookies on the dining table left.   
But then he flinched when a wooden bowl fell to the ground next to him. Turning around, he remarked:   
"Dear, you're tossing like a girl."   
Another growl and then he took a hasty step to the side - her dagger drilled itself into the door frame at eye level.   
"That's better."   
Her skills with the dagger were unpleasantly impressive. She growled again and he grinned.   
"But you should still work on handling your aggression." He felt the stiletto and kept his mouth shut - she hadn't done that for quite a while and he knew his limits.   
"Fuck you..." she murmured angrily - the first time he ever heard a dirty word from her mouth.   
"That's exactly what I had in mind..." he murmured back and set himself in motion, only to stop in amazement a few steps further on, because suddenly a strange cup floated beside him.   
"What's that?"   
"I need a sample."   
"What for?" Disgusted, he reached for the cup.   
"To test your toxicity."   
"What, are you gonna smear that stuff on your arm?"   
"Do I look like I'm unprofessional?"   
He wisely denied himself a remark and said instead: "No, dear."   
"Stop it!"   
Only recently had he discovered how much he could annoy her with it. "Of course, dear."   
"Samson!"

~

"You're focusing on the wrong boy," Jonas said just as Sam came back from the bathroom with the cup in his hand.   
"All men are boys to you now, Jonas, so just tell me who you mean," Romy returned with loving mockery.   
"Sam is not-"   
Since Sam didn't really want to hear what the two had to say about him, he entered the lab and put the cup on one of the work tables. Surprised, he saw his shield and a shoulder piece of his armor lying in a corner. Jonas bowed halfway and left without a word while Romy sighed.   
"What are you doing with my shield?" The shield was just as dirty as it was right after the fight with the dragon.   
"I have a theory and Jonas thinks I'm wrong. Commander Richard has started some exercise and wants you there, so buzz off, yeah? I'm busy."   
"O-okay..." A little confused about this sudden dismissal, he went down to the barracks, where the commander actually presented the knights, guards and squires in attendance with a training plan containing various scenarios.  
It started with a speed exercise: while the squires were supposed to put on full armor all by themselves, other groups had to saddle the horses or occupy certain posts for defense. And so for the next few hours Sam ran across the castle in full gear to prove that he wasn't just wearing his armor to look important...

~

"Whew..." With a sigh, Sam dropped onto his chair and breathed deeply for a moment before airing the hood over his dinner. He was exhausted and even though he had bathed, he still felt sweaty and tense. The gratin in front of him didn't exactly contribute to the relaxation.   
"Don't make such a face. There's bacon in it," Romy said and sounded tired as well.   
"Maybe. But beside the bacon there are also potatoes and green beans and-"   
"Leave it be, will you?"   
He began to eat with a neutral expression on his face. Admittedly, it wasn't overly awful - there was the bacon and a creamy sauce with this spicy cheese and the crust on top was deliciously crispy.

It knocked and Sam looked up frowning. Since they both had their mouths full, Romy opened the door with a magic hint.   
"I beg your pardon many times, Your Highness..." It was Isaac standing nervously and blushing in the door, a misshapen package in his hand.   
"It's all right." Romy nodded.   
"I was told to bring this to you." Isaac took an uncertain step and Sam was uncomfortably reminded that he had a full mouth because he choked when he tried to warn Isaac not to enter the room.   
"It's all right," he heard Romy say again as he laboriously swallowed, and then he drove up from his chair and held his dagger in his hand before he knew what was happening to him. Growling, he turned to Isaac, who had taken a few steps into the room.   
"I'll just put it here..." His squire lost his voice when Sam approached him with smooth movements, turning the dagger in his hand a little.   
"Samson."   
Isaac hurriedly placed the package on a side table and immediately started to retreat.   
"Samson!" Romy repeated sharply, but Sam didn't care. A man had entered her rooms and- "Samson, I'm hurt, I need you." Now she sounded miserable and the smell of her blood soaked with magic tickled him in the nose. Isaac squealed quietly and rescued himself over the threshold into the corridor- immediately Sam's tension dropped and he looked over his shoulder to Romy. She had cut her finger with her ritual knife and looked anything but miserable. He looked back at Isaac who was saluting hastily and then hurried away. The door closed by itself and Sam slowly went back to his place.   
"I would have attacked and killed him, wouldn't I?"   
Romy nodded and he sat down.   
"It was a test, right?"   
She nodded again.   
"To test your theory?"   
For the third time she nodded.   
"Who or what did you want to test?"   
She sighed. "Anything."   
"That's not an answer."   
"I have a theory and this little test just now has it..." She stopped. "Oh damn... The result can speak both for my theory and for Jonas'." Quite frustrated, she skewered a piece of potato.   
"Will I ever get a more precise explanation before I actually kill my squire?" he wanted to know carefully and she sighed anew.   
"When I know more..."   
He nodded thoughtfully. He would not get a better answer before she wanted it.

~

"Normally I'd say you work too much with the shield, but apparently that's right for fighting in narrow hallways." Erik rolled his shoulders while Sam wiped his wet hair from his face.   
"Apparently."   
Commander Richard's exercise today had them practice in small groups how to defend someone in the corridors of the castle in an orderly manner. Sam and Erik had been among the defenders.   
"But that doesn't do you much good if you're attacked in the middle of the night and have nothing but your dagger on the bedside table."   
Erik grinned - sometime in the last weeks the relationship between the two had thawed out - and nudged Sam playfully. "What, don't you have a sword under your pillow?"   
Sam gave back a playful shoulder push. "I'm a spoiled prince, I like to sleep comfortable."   
They both laughed and returned from the bathhouse to the castle while still talking a little about the exercise. At the point where their paths separated, Jocelyn suddenly joined from another direction, followed by two maids carrying fresh stacks of laundry.   
"I hope you don't mind if I kidnap my husband for a while," Jocelyn said with a smile, looking at Sam as if she meant him and not Erik.   
"Not at all." With this kind of smile Sam's stomach made a jump and when her hand as if by chance grazed his as she stepped aside to let the maids pass, the tingling of the touch extended to his shoulder.   
"See you later," Erik said and nodded to Sam, who nodded back.

In the laboratory Sam met a rather grumpy Romy, which was not surprising - it was the first day of her moontime. His shield was still lying dirty in a corner, but since her mysterious allusion to a theory a week ago she had said nothing more.   
"We've had an exercise in the castle hallways today," he broke the silence and then just babbled for a while because Romy didn't say anything on the one hand and didn't seem overly concentrated on the other.   
"We noticed something," he said then.   
"Hmm?" Apparently she had listened.   
"Erik is now wearing another ring."   
"Of course", she mumbled, "he's married now."   
"No, I mean the other one. It's no longer black, but bronze."   
"He's married now."   
"Yes, but then why is he still wearing one at all? And then the same as the Queen's Guard? How many types are there at all?"   
Romy sighed annoyed. "I'll explain the ring system to you another time."   
"Is it because he's married to Jocelyn as the heiress?"   
"I said another time."   
"Is there no equivalent like a wedding ring for down there?"   
She breathed out and Sam closed his mouth as a precaution. To collide with Romy on this particular first day of the moontime was unhealthy and so he silently turned to the task that she gave him wordlessly. The heavy seed capsules and the little hammer needed no further words.

But somehow it was tingling in him and the silence made him go crazy.   
"We met Jocelyn-"   
"Shut up!"   
Surprised by their violence, he looked up.   
"For a damn week you've been talking about nothing but Jocelyn and Erik and again Jocelyn! I can't hear it anymore!" Her eyes sparkled angrily, her hand trembled with a small scraper inside.   
"B-but I-" The magic slammed him against the wall so suddenly that he couldn't even make a sound before he saw stars. He moaned quietly and for a moment saw double as he sank to the ground.   
"You're jealous..." He immediately regretted his words. The magic pulled him up again and pinned him to the wall.   
"I warned you."   
While he could do nothing but breathe and blink and watch her search for something, he wondered to what extent he was right. Judging by her reaction, he couldn't be overly wrong - just wondering if she was jealous of the couple in general or if it was more about Erik. However, before he could deepen the dispute with himself, Romy had found what she had been looking for.   
A needle.   
A certain panic arose in him, for he remembered the threat to sew his mouth shut.

It was exactly what she did. With more stitches than would have been necessary to be exact, and meanwhile fine sweat stood on her forehead. The magic had to inflict uncanny pain on her, but otherwise she seemed absolutely controlled. Tears of pain ran down his cheeks, but he was unable to react until she released him and he collapsed again. He whimpered and sobbed suffocated as she put away the needle and thread.   
"You're not finished yet," she said quietly. She sounded exhausted and to his astonishment disappointed, but by no means angry. He struggled to get up, wiped his cheeks with his sleeve and stepped back to the work table.   
He fought his desperate helplessness down and his hands stopped shaking. He was a prince, a knight, a dragon slayer. He had his pride. Slowly and deeply he breathed through his nose and opened another seed capsule. One of the small seeds inside broke and released an oily, sharp smell.   
"Be careful," Romy said quietly. "The stuff stings." It was a well-meant advice which was a stark contrast to her action. But he nodded, although she probably didn't see it.   
_It's her moontime,_ he told himself, _she is a witch and impulsive and sensitive and it's her moontime. You are a knight, you must protect her, you can' t provoke her. It's her moontime._   
As if it were an excuse for everything.

~

Sam had no idea how to sleep. His face hurt and he had a lump on the back of his head. Nevertheless, he sat down on his bed and took off his shoes. He did find that he had worn the punishment with dignity after he had overcome the first shock, but the pain didn't diminish. Romy was jealous and there were probably quite a few understandable reasons for it, but it wasn't fair to pass that on to Sam.   
On the other hand, he could have just kept his mouth shut.

"You have to go to her." Jonas' sudden appearance made Sam flinch so violently that he hit his head on the wall behind him.   
"Hmm?"   
Jonas sat down next to him and held a small knife in front of Sam's nose, then carefully cut the threads and pulled them out. The resulting pain brought tears to Sam's eyes again and he clawed himself into his bedding.   
"You have to go to her," Jonas repeated quietly.   
"I don't want", Sam said tonelessly, trying to move his mouth as little as possible. He tasted blood and suppressed the urge to feel with the tongue for the puncture sites.   
"It's her moontime. She needs you."   
"I know. But I don't want to."   
Jonas sighed, "I told you not to provoke her. And yet: she will never punish you in such a way that she could not heal it."   
Sam snorted and rubbed his eyes.   
"She cares for you," Jonas said then gently and Sam snorted again.   
"Sure..."   
Jonas sighed. "Witches are troublesome, Samson, I wouldn't deny it. I've been in the service of the Blackwood-witches for over fifty years and have experienced all sorts of drama." He paused and seemed to think about what to say next. "If you _want_ to help Romy, go to her. Be man enough to forgive her a moontime tantrum." Jonas rose and left.   
Sighing, Sam looked after him and rubbed his face before burying it in his hands.

There was a chaos of thoughts and feelings in his head. He wasn't really angry, but rather hurt, felt rejected and at the same time like he was right. Her reaction was childish and exaggerated.   
She was a witch and held him captive and... and... and... and yet.   
He was a knight. He had sworn - sworn to the Great Mother! - to protect and serve. If he was unlucky and at the moment this referred to a witch who, according to witch accounts, was probably still in puberty, then it was just like that.   
"What have I done to deserve this?" he asked silently into the darkness as he went through the lab.   
Duty and honor were something he could hold on to.   
In the darkness of Romy's bedroom he didn't even look for his silk pyjamas, but just crawled under the heavy blanket. As soon as he lay down, it rustled on Romy's side, and he flinched when her cool fingers touched him and finally came to rest on his swollen lips. She healed him with earth magic, which must hurt her even more at the moment than her very own magic, but he did not comment. Instead he said quietly as she pulled her hand back:   
"I'm sorry."   
"Me too," she whispered back.   
It felt good to hear it and so he didn't pull his hand back when she grabbed and held it.


	18. Sooner or later, squires become knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attack in the night ensures that Isaac comes back into focus...

"We need to talk." Romy's tone reminded Sam so strongly of his mother, Queen Sylvia, that he asked in the same tone as his father, resigned and demonstratively interested:  
"Do we have to, dear?" Sylvia talked a lot and with pleasure, Gerald was a silent man.  
"Yes..." Romy replied and sounded irritated. Sam put the thought of his parents aside and looked up.  
"About what?"  
Romy's whole moontime they had been almost entirely silent and it was obvious that neither of them had felt comfortable.  
"About Isaac."  
Sam, who had just tried to close his mouth around a piece of his omelette, stopped and pulled back the fork and the piece of omelette with it.  
"What happened?" he wanted to know calmly and frowned. Romy seemed to think for a moment and then said quietly:  
"In the night Jocelyn and Erik were attacked."  
"What?" he looked at her in horror and she nodded barely.  
"Jocelyn and mother are still fighting for his life, he was struck with a poisoned blade." Now she looked shaken; although she was properly dressed, she still wore the dishevelled braid of the night and wiped a few tangled strands from her face. Sam put the cutlery aside and pushed the plate away.  
"And..."  
"When Jonas came to check on us, we slept so deeply and soundly that he was afraid for a moment. I... oh Great Mother..." Her fingers trembled as she kneaded the end of her braid. "Jonas reported earlier that it was a woman, she's dead."  
"A man would never have come into the bedroom unnoticed, would he?" Sam asked in between and Romy nodded.  
"Even though your reaction was much more violent than it should have been... a man would have been spotted by Erik immediately. But Jocelyn informed Jonas that she had a second knight."  
"Didn't you say-"  
"I know. But I assume she bound him after the ritual. Someone nobody knows. Maybe a servant or a guard, maybe not even someone from the castle."  
Sam was horrified and confused and taken by surprise, and Romy's insecurity that grew as he spoke worried him.  
"I don't want to directly suspect Ellie, but..." Romy's fingers flew over her hair, her clothes, the edge of the table and then remained in her lap.  
"But you do it anyway," Sam said quietly and she nodded.  
"If Ellie gets cocky, it's not enough for her to kill Jocelyn."  
"You're scared."  
"A witch without a knight is vulnerable."  
"You want a second knight as security."  
"I want Isaac."  
That closed the circle and Sam leaned back in his chair.  
"He will be bound to me, Samson, no more and no less."  
"Why him?"  
Romy took a deep breath and then drank her tea in silence for a moment before saying: "He has a magical talent."  
Astonished, Sam looked at her. "Excuse me?"  
"I thought you had one at first because it would explain some of your strange reactions, but it's Isaac."  
"What... how...?" He was more confused than ever. Isaac - a magical talent? That sounded crazy. And what strange reactions?  
"Your armor and shield are full of protective spells - so intuitive and at the same time so carefully placed that it must have been Isaac. He takes care of your equipment, doesn't he?"  
Sam nodded.  
"I also checked his practice armor in the barracks - the same, though less pronounced."  
Sam had no idea what to say about that.  
"Will you allow me to bind him?"  
"Excuse me?"  
Uncertain, Romy looked at him. "He's your squire, you're responsible for him."  
"I... I don't know. That's..." He licked his suddenly dry lips and swallowed hard. "If someone kills me, he'll have to take my place for the ritual, won't he?"  
She nodded. "I hope, however, that such an attempt will only be made after the ritual. Attacking and killing a witch before the ritual is completed is a grave offence." She paused briefly and bit her lower lip before adding: "If everything goes the way I want it to, after the ritual no one will ever come up with the idea of attacking you just like that anyway."  
That added to the stomach ache that Sam already had one on top. Nevertheless, he didn't ask questions, he wouldn't get a satisfactory answer anyway.  
"All right..." he said quietly after a moment and nodded, "you can bind Isaac."  
"Thank you, Samson." She seemed relieved.  
If anyone found out, Isaac would get into the line of fire, but on the other hand Romy would take care of him as her knight. He would then be able to enter Romy's rooms and then Sam and Jonas would also look after him and when he got the knighthood next year Romy would perhaps be able to push him more easily into the Queen's Guard and - Sam paused. Something was wrong with his thought process, but he couldn't grasp this doubt.  
"Could you please go get him?" Romy's voice finally drove the strange feeling away.  
"Sure."

~

Although it was still relatively early, Sam was sent directly to the practice rooms of the barracks. In the second he discovered Isaac practicing with another squire, holding the shield too high as usual.  
"Shield down, Isaac," he said admonishingly as he approached. Isaac lowered the shield a little. "And you - shoulders down. Otherwise you'll be completely cramped in five minutes."  
"Yes, Sir Samson." The squire sounded pretty young and suddenly Sam felt pretty old. He watched for a moment as Isaac fended off the rather awkward attacks, and then said:  
"I really don't want to disturb, but Princess Romy wants to talk to you, Isaac."  
"What?" Isaac was so terrified that he let the other squire knock the sword out of his hand. Sam suppressed a sigh.  
"You let yourself get distracted too easily. My goodness, I thought you'd be less jumpy after all those dragons."  
"It's probably more the princess...," the other squire remarked, ducking his head under Sam's astonished gaze as Isaac turned red.  
"She's not mad at me, is she? Because I entered her rooms, I mean. I mean, her servant told me so and-"  
"No, she's not mad at you," Sam interrupted the hasty stammer and raised his hands in a soothing gesture. "She wants to ask you for something."  
"Why doesn't she come here?" Isaac asked quietly. "She always comes here to talk. Two or three times a week," he added to Sam's questioning look.  
"It's important. So please put your stuff away and come with me."  
"Of course." Isaac nodded and hurried away, while the other squire grinned a little stupidly.  
"Peter, sir." He saluted and Sam nodded. "The princess has confused Isaac quite a bit the last time. Asked a lot of questions."  
"About what?"  
Peter shrugged. "I don't know. But afterwards he sat in a corner for hours and polished his armor."  
Sam nodded thoughtfully; he could roughly imagine what Romy might have asked.

Slowly he went through the barracks to collect Isaac and found an extremely nervous squire, whose pale face had hectic red spots.  
"Isaac, she won't eat you up, she just wants to ask you a favor."  
"Everything she wants," Isaac mumbled and Sam stopped. Now Isaac became as white as chalk. "Please don't kill me."  
"I think," Sam started quietly, "there's a need to talk here."  
"You..."  
"I'm not gonna kill you."  
"But-"  
"I'm magically bound to Romy, okay? The magic makes me protect her and her rooms, no matter who. If you talk to her now, I'll wait outside."  
"And... and you don't mind me being alone with her?"  
"Why should I?"  
A few heartbeats they looked at each other irritated.  
"But you're courting her," Isaac said at the same moment, as Sam astonishedly stated: "You're having a crush on her."  
Isaac lowered his gaze and an unpleasant silence spread.  
"I'm sorry, Sam," Isaac finally said very quietly.  
"Why should you be sorry? That's nothing you consciously choose," Sam replied only slightly louder.  
"I know. But you want to marry her and that's just not right..."  
"Do you really think this is a love affair?"  
Isaac made a face and Sam hoped that he hadn't been implanted with completely twisted ideas under the mixture of magic and drugs. Maybe, it went through his head, his feelings weren't even real. However, at some point Romy had made it clear that she wasn't responsible for it and had no influence on it.  
"I... I thought you were happy," Isaac said unclearly.  
"Well, I'm not exactly unhappy now," Sam said cautiously. "But from a political and economic point of view..." That sounded awfully heartless, so he added, "I like her." And because Isaac still looked like he wanted to disappear into the ground, he said: "Oh my goodness, don't make such a face. I know that you have no immoral intentions, and I will not use your feelings against you, Great Mother, we are all only human beings."  
"She is a witch."  
"She will not skin you alive just because you find her pretty. Isaac, please, be reasonable."  
"And you won't send me away?"  
Sighing, Sam pinched his nose root. "My dear Isaac Ferricstone, you are my squire and we have sworn things to each other which I hope I don't have to repeat here now. I don't care who you have a crush on, _even_ if it's my future wife. I don't care where you put your sword _unless_ it's my future wife. And if you don't want to kill anybody I care about, I don't care _either_. So pull yourself together."  
Isaac nodded weakly. Sam sighed again. To soften his harsh tone he said:  
"Come on, we're friends, aren't we?"  
Now Isaac smiled and sniffed briefly. "Yes. Yes. I'm sorry. Really, I'm sorry, I'm..." He took a shaky breath. "I'm a little confused."  
"Yes, I noticed..." Sam was hoping that this condition could be reversed. But to be honest, he was a little confused as well.

Silently they continued on their way, but now Isaac was only nervous because Romy wanted to ask him for something. When she greeted him at the door, Sam had to give him a little push to really get him in.  
"You're waiting over there?" Romy wanted to know and Sam nodded. "Good. It won't take long."

~

About an hour later Jonas told Sam that the binding was complete and Sam went over.  
"Sam is extraordinary," Isaac explained with deep conviction just as Sam was within earshot.  
"He is sometimes quite arrogant," Romy remarked in return, but sounded almost amused.  
"Oh, he's proud, sure, but he's a knight and when it comes to duty and honour, he quickly pushes his pride aside."  
Sam glanced through the door into the lab and blinked in amazement. Isaac sat on the floor, a bowl of water beside him, and cleaned Sam's shield. Next to him, Romy sat on a thick pillow and stirred in some paste.  
"There are a lot of knights who don't do that," Isaac added a little depressed. "My father, for example."  
"Oh." Romy was surprised. "You think your father is a bad knight?"  
"He is not a bad knight...", Isaac answered almost tormented, "he is a really good fighter. But he doesn't take virtues too seriously and... and I'm afraid he doesn't understand it when I criticize him for it as soon as I am allowed to."  
Sam saw Romy nodding deliberately. "You don't have to tell him", she said then.  
"Yes, but if I ever become a knight, it's my duty to remind my brothers of their path." Isaac didn't see it and Sam only half, but Romy rolled her eyes heartily, which made Sam grin.  
"It didn't bother me at all to tell my father what I thought of his crazy plans," she said.  
"How did he take it?" Isaac wanted to know curiously.  
"Not very good," Romy admitted frankly. "But we didn't have much time to be angry with each other. He died pretty soon after that."  
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear."  
"It's okay..."  
In the silence that came about, Sam withdrew. He took a book and decided to wait in the main room rather than disturb them.

~

Isaac stayed for lunch and when he left, Romy said quietly:  
"He loves you."  
"I would really like to doubt it," Sam gave back dryly and bit into a cookie.  
"Yes, he does. I may not know much about it, but when he talks about you, you can hear it. And then I can even feel how his magic becomes active," she insisted. Sam sighed.  
"I am his knight. We are friends. He's like a little brother to me, yes, but that's not the kind of love you mean."  
In response, she simply raised a brow.  
"He has a crush on you." Actually, he wanted to keep that to himself, but before she came to any wrong conclusions, he preferred to tell her. By the way, her almost dumbfounded facial expression alone was worth it.  
"Excuse me?"  
"He was afraid I might kill him in a fit of jealousy."  
She snorted.  
"I tried to explain to him that this wasn't a love affair."  
"Maybe it wasn't so bad to make him my knight," she said pointedly and stood up.  
"Do you want to call him to bed?" Sam raised a brow and licked the cookie crumbs off his finger.  
"Maybe..."  
He giggled. "Have fun." He followed her to the lab, where she gathered some pots.  
"It wouldn't even bother you," she said after a moment.  
"Why should it?" He took a mortar with a pestle and reached for the bag she pushed towards him. "For all those who don't know anything about this witch stuff, I may court you, but I'm not going to marry you. And therefore I don't care who you invite to your bed. " Spirited, he dumped something that looked like little nuts into the mortar and began to work.  
"Politically, it would be a clever move," she remarked coolly.  
"To connect Whitehill and Darkmoore? Actually, yes. But you are a witch."  
"And?"  
"What is the likelihood that we would have a non-magical child? Whitehill's throne cannot be inherited by a witch. And I'm too proud to give my throne to Gordon's firstborn when I have children of my own."  
"You would love the children of a political marriage?"  
"Of course." Astonished, he looked at her. "Why not? They are mine."  
She gave him a quick glance.  
"Even if I admittedly can do without conversations like: _Samson, your council meeting must take place in the ballroom today, Valerie has set fire to the throne room by accident_."  
She snorted. "I never accidentally set something on fire. And I think there are ways that a witch can influence the child..."  
"Are you trying to sell yourself to escape this family drama?" Sam laughed quietly and when she didn't answer immediately, he looked at her. She had turned away, but her ears glowed red.  
"I could just force you to, you know..."  
He immediately stopped laughing. "Yes, I am aware of that," he said quietly and suppressed a shiver.  
"Do you think a purely vegan diet for the next few weeks would be cruel enough?"  
Irritated, he blinked at her and then giggled again. Ginevra couldn't have done better. "It's sweet when you try to be funny."  
"Somebody explained to me that normal people have humor," she replied and gave him a strange look.  
"You are not normal, dear, don't bother. You are simply a witch."  
"You say that as if it were something bad."  
"I would never dream of that. Dear, I am bound to you and the threat of a purely vegan diet makes me tremble."  
"Stop mocking me, Samson."  
"But it's fun."  
She frowned and looked at him. "Sometimes I hate you."  
"I hate you too, don't worry."


	19. The truth is a double-edged sword...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some important conversations...

The frozen ground crunched under Sam's boots as the snowflakes swirled around him.  
"I feel sorry for Erik," Owen said and parried.  
"I don't", Franz hummed from the side.  
"At least he survived," Sam said, parrying and riposting what made Owen back down.  
"He didn't deserve anything like that," Owen said and set about a high blow. Franz grumbled something incomprehensible into his scarf, Sam sighed suppressed.  
Erik had survived, sure, but he would never be able to use his right arm properly again, in addition two fingers had to be taken off him. Romy had strangely condescendingly noticed that this was what happened when you tried to control such a poisoning without a witch with healing talents. And on Sam's irritated asking she had wrinkled her nose. _"Children can't take care of the knights of adult witches."_ But Sam was the last one who could do anything about it, and he really felt sorry for Erik. He wasn't a bad guy per se and he certainly couldn't help it that he fell in love with the witch who had bound him. It also gnawed at him that Ellie could possibly attack Romy and him too, provided it was Ellie behind it.  
"Soberly, from knight to knight, I feel sorry for him, too," Sam explained, lifting the shield. Franz's answer was lost in the crunch with which Owen's sword crashed down.  
"Sam!"  
Sam took a step back and half turned around.  
"Samsamsamsamsam!"  
Owen was polite enough to stop the fight altogether, and then Isaac already rushed towards the three.  
"Sam!"  
"What's up?"  
Isaac gasped and beamed. "They make me a knight!"  
"What?" Sam asked in amazement.  
"When?" Owen asked in surprise.  
"Why?" Franz asked skeptically.  
Isaac blinked irritatedly. "Oh... well... at the Longest Night Party, of course." He seemed to realize that Sam was missing the middle piece of the information chain. "You're supposed to get some title, and then your squire can't just be a squire."  
"Ah," Sam made confused.  
"What title?" Franz wanted to know suspiciously and Sam shrugged.  
"Oh," Isaac said quietly and suddenly seemed guilty. "Oh. She hasn't even told you yet."  
"Obviously not... What is this about, Isaac?"  
"No, no, this is between you two, this is none of my business. I'm sorry, Sam." And with that he turned around on the heel and hurried away.  
Sam looked after him speechless. Isaac had just turned twenty and hadn't completed the seven years of squire service required for the knighthood, not to mention the theoretical and practical exams.  
"The Longest Night...", Owen said thoughtfully, tapping the ground with the tip of his sword.  
"Did Romy already set a date for the ritual?" Franz wanted to know and Sam made a face.  
"There are still about... six weeks, or seven." The thought made him sick.  
"I don't know much about it, but is such an accolade valid in Whitehill at all?" Owen asked and Sam shrugged.  
"I have no clue, honestly."  
A somewhat uncomfortable silence arose until Franz muttered:  
"Maybe we should go in. It gets uncomfortable out here."  
At least nobody could contradict him, because the snowfall became stronger and the ground seemed to be slowly covered with powdered sugar.

~

"Samson, could you please-" Romy broke off and Sam half turned around. She looked at him from the lab door. "Are you all right?"  
"Yeah, sure." He shrugged. "It's cold and wet outside and I'm a little tired, that's all."  
She nodded. "Then come."  
"I... okay..." Actually he wanted to roll himself up with a tea somewhere and unfreeze again, he had slept the last nights terribly badly and was honestly not in the mental condition for any comprehensive herbal lesson. However, he was greeted by an extensively prepared pentagram and a knot immediately formed in his stomach.  
"Have I done anything lately to justify this facial expression?" Romy wanted to know and actually seemed... hurt.  
"No...," Sam replied slowly and tried an apologetic smile. "I'm not in a good mood, that's all."  
She didn't seem very convinced. "Just stand in the pentagram, it won't take long."  
He nodded and complied with her request. With a hint she lit the big pale green candles and then read a long text from a book. The shackles on the wrists and ankles became uncomfortably warm and then the strange green tendrils sprouted in between, which had already appeared when the shackles were activated. But now they withered and crumbled to dust and while Sam was still blinking in amazement, the silver rings opened and fell to the ground clinking. In keeping with this, Romy fell silent and rubbed her temples.  
"I... am free?"  
"Considering you've never been a real prisoner, _free_ is a big word."  
Irritated, he looked at her and her shoulders sank down.  
"I know how Ellie treats her knights, and..." The book slid back to its place with a muffled sound and another, visibly very old book floated over from the desk to her.  
"You're a good man, Samson, and maybe you would have voluntarily bound yourself to me if you'd been asked, but..."  
"But you didn't ask me, and the Romy I met a few months ago, I would have declared crazy."  
Now it was she who seemed a little irritated.  
"You're not half as cold-hearted and unfriendly as you were in spring."  
"I learned a lot from you," she admitted after a moment and raised a corner of her mouth. A half-smile Sam honestly gave back while a part of him grinned triumphantly. And it looked like she had dimples.  
"So are you giving me more freedom now?" he asked then and rubbed his wrists, although most of the time the shackles had been so inconspicuous and comfortable as jewellery bracelets.  
"Yes and no." She found her usual working tone again and flipped through the old book. "From now until the Longest Night, you will go through a special preparation that refers to a second, additional ritual."  
Uncertainly he nodded and stepped up to her as she waved him to her. The candles of the pentagram flickered.  
"Do you know these runes?" She pointed to a spot in the book and he frowned. The rune system was complicated, including single letters as well as combinations up to whole syllables, which could be lined up by small modifications.  
"Hu..." He bit his lip. "Hu... Ro..." No, the last one was a short syllable with a modification. No, it wasn't. It was a single word and the last letter was simply appended to the second syllable. He blinked hard.  
"Hurok."  
"Hurog," she corrected deeply and throatily. This single word made him shudder.  
"What does it mean?"  
"That's not important for the moment. But I want you to practice the runes until you can draw them whilst you sleep." And before he could even nod, she carved the runes into his left palm, where they began to glow in an unhealthy yellow-green before the superficial wound closed by itself.  
"Um..."  
But she nodded and then grabbed a big bag from a shelf. She took a shapeless white lump from it, perhaps the size of a walnut, and placed it in a goblet. Then she poured a reddish liquid from a bottle over it, added two drops of a green liquid, poured in a pinch of grey powder, and then added a spoonful of honey to stir the whole mixture. She hummed for a moment and then handed the goblet to Sam.  
"Hurog," she said throatily and skeptically he accepted the goblet. The invitation was clear and he drank with a suppressed sigh. It was sweet and to his surprise he could feel the magic in the potion tingling on his tongue.  
"Until the Longest Night you will take this potion every morning," she explained and he nodded. "And until then you will remain absolutely chaste."  
"Um... okay..."  
"No alcohol."  
"Okay."  
"You only eat what you get here in front of me."  
"Okay..."  
She thought for a moment and sucked in the air with a hiss. When she apparently couldn't think of anything else, he asked carefully:  
"What happens in the Longest Night?"  
She raised a brow.  
"Isaac mentioned that I would get some title. And he would be knighted."  
"Yes..." She nodded. "Yes... Isaac gets the accolade and gets a Guard Ring." She still hadn't explained the ring system to Sam. "As for your title... I'll explain it to you later."  
"When, later?"  
"Later."  
"Romy..."  
But she had already turned away. Quickly he made two big steps and held her by the arm.  
"This is about me and my life," he said harder than he had intended.  
"You are not ready yet," she said quietly and emphatically. "I'm still missing a few pieces of the puzzle myself," she added.  
He let her go.  
"I don't want you to die. I don't want to hurt you. You have to believe me."  
More than trusting in her word he couldn't do for the moment anyway, so he just nodded and took a step back.

~

Something was in the air, making Sam and Romy extremely tense until Sam's birthday. At dinner the day before, she finally sighed after poking around in her food and pushed the plate away.  
"You should sleep in your bed over there," she said quietly.  
"Why?" he asked irritated and skewered the last Brussels sprouts.  
"Isaac wants to come over for breakfast tomorrow. I told him that Jonas was sleeping in the bed in the lab..."  
"Ah."  
"Hmm." She got up and came back with a small velvet bag in dark brown. "For you," she said uncertainly and passed the bag on.  
"My birthday is tomorrow," Sam protested weakly, completely amazed that he had received a gift from Romy at all.  
"I know. Nevertheless."  
Hesitantly, he grabbed the bag and laced it open, only to stare in surprise at the braided leather ribbon with three little emeralds worked into it.  
"That... that looks almost like Jonas' magic chain...", he noted.  
"You're right." He looked up and Romy nodded. "The emeralds are charged with my might. Jonas will teach you how to use them."  
It took a very long moment for Sam to find words. "Thank you. I... why...?"  
She lowered her gaze and sighed, but seemed rather embarrassed.  
"Does it have any hidden meaning? Or is it a special magical tie?"  
"No. No, it's just a gift."  
"Okay... thank you." With his thumb he stroked one of the little emeralds and was amazed. He could feel Romy's magic in it, the familiar feeling behind it and then it was as if he was trying to reach for a pebble at the bottom of a stream.  
Romy gasped for air.  
Magic slipped over him, enveloping him like a warm blanket, soothing and comforting, fragrant and delicious and filled with vanilla and winter spices...  
"Stop it!" When Romy screamed, he dropped the leather ribbon. She stared at him as white as chalk.  
"Don't... don't do that ever again!" She trembled violently.  
"But..."  
"Never again, Samson..."  
"But all I did was..." She seemed distraught and confused he closed his mouth.  
"You didn't reach for the stones, but directly for my magic," she whispered after a moment. "That should be impossible. You don't even have the slightest hint of magic talent."  
"I didn't do it on purpose," he assured her. The fear in her voice worried him. Probably he could seriously hurt her in this way, whether he wanted it or not.  
"Something is wrong with you. With the bond between us," she whispered and swallowed heavily. "You react too strongly to everything that has nothing to do with the ritual. You... You can feel me, can't you? How precise?"  
Now it was Sam who swallowed hard. "It's like a compass. But stronger."  
"How strong exactly?"  
"I don't know..." He shrugged. "I think with a little practice I could tell exactly how many walls there are between us."  
In response, she just stared at him.  
"That's not normal, is it?" he asked quietly as the silence dragged on.  
"That's anything but normal," she muttered and rubbed her forehead. "I want you to go with Jonas to the other end of the castle when he shows you how to use the stones. And I want you to listen very carefully to yourself before you use them. The improper tapping of my magic can kill me, Samson, but then you die too."  
He had imagined it. "Keep the stones," he said carefully and picked up the leather ribbon. She shook her head.  
"No. They're for you."  
"Even at the risk of me accidentally killing both of us?" he asked skeptically.  
"I do have some faith in you." She sounded like Romy again and that calmed him down. More than he wanted to admit, more than the words themselves did.

~

"Sam!"  
"Ngh..."  
"Sam, wake up!" The urgent tone in Isaac's voice worked. Sam drove up and blinked irritated as Isaac grinned at him.  
"Happy birthday to you!"  
"Thank you..." Sam rubbed his face and yawned. "There are still nicer ways to wake me up."  
"I can imagine, Sir Knight, but I have duties and at least wanted to have breakfast with you."  
"Why do you suddenly sound so grown-up?" Sam yawned again and for simplicity's sake put on what he had taken off yesterday.  
"Because in three days I'll be knighted. And knights are grown up."  
Sam snorted skeptically.

Romy might have been an early riser, but she didn't seem too excited to be woken before her usual time. But Isaac made up for that. He babbled happily as Sam and Romy sipped their teas and ate slowly, with Romy giving Sam strange looks from time to time. When Isaac finally disappeared - after he had coaxed half of Sam's omelette out of him - Romy sighed.  
"How long were you on the road together?"  
"Several years."  
"Is he like this every morning?"  
Sam sniffed. "Magic made it worse."  
She gave him a look that could have been called compassionate.

In a peaceful silence they sat there for a while, then Romy sighed again.  
"I wanted to be honest with you, didn't I?"  
"Yeah..." Sam said stretched and frowned. "Why?"  
"I wrote a letter to your parents."  
Amazed, he blinked at her. "When? And why? And what does it say?"  
She moved a little uneasily. "I wrote them that you saved me from a dragon and that you were hurt. That you would stay until you recovered."  
So far he could still relate to that. Since he had written regularly himself, his parents would have worried at some point.  
"Your father answered very politely and gratefully."  
Sam nodded.  
"A few weeks ago I told them that... that you are courting me and..." She stopped and then got up to get something from the lab. "Yesterday there was an answer. Even directly to you. From your mother."  
"Oh." Sam had an unpleasant idea what that meant. Romy wrinkled her nose.  
"Her writing was... well, just a notch above _insulting_."  
"Yeah... sounds like my mother when she can't keep her temper in check," he muttered and broke the seal of the letter Romy had handed him.

The letter already started with her writing to _Samson_, which she never did under normal circumstances. And from the first line on, her words hurt. Of course, she assumed that he wanted to marry Romy, but to read about her disappointment, that she doubted his decision and moreover his intelligence, because he courted a witch...  
It didn't comfort him at all that she only wanted his best and his happiness and that she considered a political-economic decision inappropriate. Her feelings were reflected in the unstructured content and the intensity brought to paper hit Sam deeply. Especially the remark that he obviously didn't think with his brain when he chose _this woman_, no matter how valuable a connection to Darkmoore might be. No, not by him, not by him as crown prince.

"Should I have given this letter to you tomorrow?" Romy wanted to know carefully.  
"No," Sam mumbled and let the letter sink onto the table. "No."  
She looked at him questioningly.  
"My mother obviously doesn't care much for witches."  
"Yes, I noticed."  
"Even if she doesn't know the truth... I mean, is it really just that you're a witch? Or would she find some serious flaw in every woman?"  
"Mother practically threw you at my feet because she was afraid that I would end up taking just any one. Maybe your mother is afraid that you will do the same," Romy said surprisingly gently.  
"That I'm just going to marry some young lady because I can't find a better one? Because I want to go home? Because I must be afraid that Gordon will steal my throne?"  
A weak nod of agreement. "She wants to protect you because she loves you, doesn't she?"  
"Yes, but if she loves me, she should respect my decision too. She doesn't have to approve it, but at least she should present her criticism a little more objectively."  
"Would sober criticism change anything about your decision?"  
"In a decision out of love? Certainly not. In a political decision, I'd rather listen to my father's opinion."  
"Your father courted my mother back then - apparently he would approve."  
"Right..." Sam sighed deeply and pushed the thought away. Since he didn't want to marry Romy, it was all nothing but hot air.  
"Would you marry me?" she asked promptly.  
"Is this a theoretical question or a proposal?" he asked back with his brows raised and stroked a cheeky strand behind his ear. She blushed and he already had a _no_ in his mouth when he paused.  
He had gone to Darkmoore because of a rumor. And for that rumor he had turned a deaf ear to Isaac's superstitious warning. He had saved the princess and even courted her for all the world. The realization that he had actually intended to marry her made him giggle.

He looked at her, the woman who held him captive, who hurt him, who he was magically forced to protect, who he would have adopted in a few special moments as another little sister, who used him for her own purposes and for her family drama- and started laughing a little hysterically.  
Stunned, she looked at him.  
He laughed and cried at the same time until he couldn't remember where was up or down, until he was too exhausted to think of an answer.  
He was not sure to what extent his answer corresponded to the truth. And he was also not sure whether he wanted to know the truth about this question at all.  
Probably not.


	20. Knights and Dragons connects more than the fact that Knights kill Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam remembers is sidequest, Isaac gets knighted and well... there's magic in the air!

Romy was different. Sam couldn't put it into words, but in the last weeks she had changed. She sometimes seemed so vulnerable and then she was rejective again and focused only on her preparations. She really seemed to care about him, but then she kept quiet about certain things rather than explain something.  
And the last two days had been especially... strange. This was not least due to the odd conversation that had taken place after his mother's letter. But Sam couldn't even really ponder about it, because recently his head filled with cotton wool on various topics and left him even more confused. Or with a violent headache.

Like now. He had a headache and the clacking of the heavy boots on the stones hammered in his head, echoing as Romy suddenly stopped in front of a wall. Just as abruptly, she raised her hand to his temple - he flinched back- and stroked along with her fingertips a few times. The pounding in his head diminished.  
"Thank you," he mumbled softly. A little worried, she looked at him and seemed to want to say something, but hesitated. Only when the situation became a little unpleasant did she say:  
"It should get better in the next few days." Then she put her hand on the wall, which suddenly shimmered and then became half transparent.  
"Take my hand. We enter a part of the garden reserved for the family." There was a certain warning in her words and so he took her hand, which was cold despite the half-gloves.

The garden was covered ankle-deep with snow, on which the weak morning sun glittered. It was peaceful and could have been almost romantic...  
"Where are we going?"  
"To the Sacred Grove."  
"You have a Sacred Grove?" he asked in surprise.  
"Of course. You don't?" Just as surprised she looked at him.  
"No," he answered slowly. "Blackwood trees are hard to grow and I only know from Redriver that they still have a Sacred Grove somewhere."  
"Oh... But... where are the family rituals held?"  
"We have a Sacred Appletree Grove. Not comparable, of course, but better than nothing..." The last words were lost in the silence when they stepped around a small group of trees and behind them the grove became visible. Arranged in a circle around a statue of the Great Mother was a compact oak tree with an overhanging crown, on whose branches mistletoe clung, the oak was flanked by a hazel bush and an elder tree, which in turn were flanked by an yew and an apple tree, and opposite the oak stood the blackwood tree. The seven sacred trees of the Great Mother.

Awe crept into Sam's heart. They had just passed the blackwood tree when Romy released him and he sank to one knee. Not that he was excessively religious, but here...  
The Empire had systematically destroyed the Sacred Groves and there had been a whole series of reasons why they never rose again in old glory. Among other things, the stubbornness of certain witches...

"Have you ever wondered why the Blackwoods' family crest looks different than the country's?" Romy asked after a moment. Sam got up.  
"The Appleberry crest also looks different than Whitehill's."  
That was obviously not what she had wanted to hear, because she frowned.  
"But yes, I was wondering why the tree in your family crest is on fire."  
"It's not." She stepped to the blackwood tree and laid her hand on the black-violet trunk. Almost immediately, hundreds, thousands of small red-orange blossoms sprouted on the bare branches. Sam stared with his mouth open. Romy took her hand away and the blossoms split into sparks.  
"In us Blackwoods still flows the Old Blood."  
"Oh, Great Mother..." Sam mumbled soundlessly. Romy gently took his hand and led him to the apple tree, laid his hand on the rough bark and as she took her hand away, the apple tree also began to bloom.  
"Great Mother..."  
"Besides us, only the Oakshields in Rockvalley are left of the Old Blood," she said quietly.  
"Then the legend is true? That the Great Mother gave her first seven priests the seven Holy Trees as a gift?"  
Romy shrugged. "There will be some true core to the story. But this little trick only works in a complete Sacred Grove."  
Sam nodded in fascination and took a step back. "Why did you show me this?"  
She hesitated for a moment. "As a Ritual-Knight you are bound to me for a lifetime. Since you are of the Old Blood, you might be able to elicit a seedling from the blackwood tree here."  
"A kind of... reward?" he asked with his brow raised.  
"No. An offer of peace. Ellie is so stupid that she wants to sacrifice a prince... Sunplains may not be our neighbor, but Whitehill is and I don't want to know how many armies we witches could really destroy if we had to. And that's what we'd have to do if anyone found out about Franz's death."  
"Just the capture of a prince - basically two of them - could justify a war," Sam said quietly and she nodded.  
"I know. Ellie's stupid to take such a risk."  
"You're taking a risk too. Even if it's just that I want revenge for my friend at some point."  
"I know. I know, Samson, and therefore I hope all the more that the grove recognizes you." She seemed worried - it baffled him a little.  
"Do you really think I would start a war?"  
"I don't know. But there's more than one reason for a war and a holy blackwood tree as a gift isn't much, more of a symbol, but still."  
"Could you explain that a little more?" he asked carefully and she nodded.  
"Come." She held out her hand and he grabbed it before they walked through the garden again.

They stopped in front of a lawn covered with fallen leaves.  
"Stop and don't move," she said quietly and then raised one hand. All of a sudden a strong wind swept from behind, almost blowing Sam away and clearing the leaves - and revealing a strange tangle of tendrils. He wondered for a moment, then Romy said:  
"In my boot is my knife. You have to cut my hand with it." He pulled the knife a little awkwardly out of her boot and because he held her left with his right hand, he pulled the little knife a little awkwardly over her palm with his left. She let the blood drip onto the tendrils, which were rustling and strangely crunching.  
And formed a huge family tree.  
Right in front of Sam's boots the tendrils formed the name Jocelyn, on the left Lyandra, on the right Romy, Ruben, Elisabeth and Theresa.  
"You were five sisters?"  
"Yes," Romy said quietly. "Theresa died when we were children."  
"Oh..."  
Romy made a face. "I remember that she was just beginning to develop her power. They say it was an accident, but Ellie was probably involved and now I doubt it was really just an accident."  
"I see..." Sam murmured and let his gaze wander on. Some of the tendrils still struggled, making it hard to read the names, but from Ruby a branch led to an older sister Alice, who had a daughter named Charlotte- just like Ruby's and Alice's mother.  
"Why isn't Alice Queen?" he wanted to know.  
"Alice left after mother had finished her ritual. I met her a few years ago, but I think she is more like me. More witch than princess," Romy answered slowly.  
"Hmm... and your father-" He broke off. _Antonidas_.  
"My father...?"  
"Your father's name is Antonidas?" A certain discomfort spread to Sam's stomach.  
"Yes, why?" She looked at him questioningly.  
"I... got the order from a spirit to kill a man named Antonidas. As a price for his protection," Sam replied slowly. "He wanted to remind me of it in my dreams, but... but he didn't."  
"It's probably because you did the job," Romy remarked in a strangely dry, pragmatic tone.  
"But I didn't kill anyone after we met the spirit. Only the dragon."  
Her answer consisted of half a nod and half a shrug.  
"You don't want to tell me now that this dragon was your father Antonidas." He looked at her in amazement.  
"Yes...?"  
"Dear, this is the wrong time for humor."  
"I'm not joking."  
For a moment they looked at each other.  
"So I killed your father because he was a dragon and they told me that he had kidnapped you? Great mother!" Horrified he stared at her and she shook her head gently.  
"He wasn't a real dragon, but-"  
"I killed your father!"  
"He was a human being in the shape of a dragon."  
"The Prince Consort of Darkmoore!"  
"Samson!"  
"Great Mother, you have every right of the world to declare war on us!"  
"Sam!"  
He flinched. Serious and incredibly calm, Romy looked at him.  
"My father", she said slowly and very emphatically, "was a man in the shape of a dragon. Mother consciously lured you here and consciously accepted that her husband would be killed. He was crazy, Sam, because he was stuck in the dragon shape. Yes, in theory she could declare war on Whitehill for that, but we have you in custody, don't we?"  
He swallowed and nodded.  
"They loved each other and he volunteered to be her knight. She added the second ritual, although he wasn't strong enough. And he paid dearly for it. Only on special nights or with the help of a complicated potion he could turn back into a human being. It was enough to impregnate mother five times, but he still went mad. I almost believe you redeemed him, so I will never blame you."  
Sam swallowed hard again and noticed that he trembled.  
"If I can, I will give Whitehill a blackwood tree for a Sacred Grove and a dragon. If there's a war, it's not you, it's Ellie." She held his hand so tight that it almost hurt, but with the other hand she stroked a strand from his cheek back behind his ear before putting her cold fingers on it.  
"Dragon?" he asked back tonelessly. Somehow he couldn't quite follow her anymore.  
"I will give you the ability to transform yourself into a dragon. You are strong, Sam, and-"  
A horrified wheeze slipped out of him. _"What?"_ He wanted to retreat from her, but couldn't. He wanted to put his horror and his disbelief into words, but he found none.  
"Sam..."  
"A... a dragon? I'm supposed to become a dragon?"  
"No, you shall only be able to take the shape of a dragon. Like a second kind of armour."  
"You're joking. Great Mother, please tell me you are joking!"  
Gently she shook her head. Something went wrong here. The softness with which her fingers caressed his cheek, with which she spoke, was in a way more cruel than her cold disinterest.  
"I want to go home," he whispered. A dragon. Romy's father was a dragon. He had killed the queen's dragon-consort. As punishment they would turn him into a dragon.  
"Sam..."  
Stunned, he stared at her.  
"After the ritual, we go to Whitehill."  
_We?_  
"I promise you."  
Dragon...  
"I swear it." With cold lips she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

~

Still confused (not to say disturbed) by the news of the morning, Sam sat freshly bathed and shaved for the second time wrapped in towels on a stool in the bathroom and thought. Or at least he tried. In his head the fight against the dragon, who had turned out to be Romy's father, took place again and again. After a short knock, the door opened and Romy entered.  
"Sam?"  
He looked up.  
"It's okay if I say Sam, right?" For calling him that all day long, the question came to her very late.  
"It's okay..." he murmured. She squatted in front of him and held on to his knees.  
"I know I've said it five times already, but still. It's not a punishment or anything, but a great honour. A proof of your strength. The mere fact that Mother will make you an official Dragon Knight beforehand will earn you the greatest respect." This probably cleared up the question of what would happen in a few hours at the Longest Night Festival.  
"I don't want any respect," he explained defiantly. "I want to go home."  
"After the ritual. I promised you." She nodded to him, but that didn't help him to feel less miserable. "Come on, you have to get dressed. Jonas will take you to the chapel." She rose herself first, ran her fingers through his hair and magically dried it.

In the dressing room Sam blinked in amazement at what was waiting for him.  
A white shirt and the black trousers with the dark green embroidered leaves- okay.  
A jacket in such dark green that it almost looked black- okay.  
But the vest, the boots and the strange pair of gloves were made of scaly leather.  
"I'm not putting that on," he explained with as much dignity as he could in his underpants.  
"Yes, you will," Romy explained with equal determination.  
"This one has scales!"  
"I think it's better if the scales on the vest don't come from you."  
"Stop your stupid jokes," he hissed angrily, but she sighed only resignedly. Probably she had expected resistance.  
"Sam..."  
"Stop it!"  
"With what?"  
"To be so gentle!"  
"Would you prefer it if I forced you?"  
"That's dragon leather, Romy, from a dragon who was once a man and called you his child!"  
"Do you want me to force you?"  
"I don't want to wear that!"  
"Leather comes from dead animals."  
"A dragon isn't just an animal. And this dragon was your father!"  
"Sam!"  
"Stop it!" He got a slap in the face and took a surprised step back.  
"Get dressed."  
"Yes, Romy," he murmured. Not that he won anything, but he felt a little better. Silently, he dressed and admired the soft flexibility of the dragon's leather despite the disgust. The boots were high and when you opened the upper part they reached over the knee, but strangely enough they were laced at the back.

When he was dressed, Romy gave him a belt. Black and plain and confusing. Aside from a simple sword scabbard in which his own sword was stuck, behind it hung a larger scabbard which was empty and whose black shimmered greenish. On the other side hung his dagger. Asking he looked at Romy, but she didn't go for it, but attached a white cape to his shoulders and then stepped back to examine him.  
"Jacket and cape together are ridiculous," he muttered and she sighed annoyed.  
"You're already a knight, so you can't wear all white. After the ceremony you can take off the cape and look decent."  
He grumbled in agreement, because she was absolutely right.  
"May I?"  
Irritated, he frowned and stared at the hairbrush. His hair had already been a little too long when he _rescued_ Romy, and now it almost fell on his shoulders; Jonas had refused to cut even a millimeter of it without instruction or permission.  
"If it has to be. You'd better change yourself."  
"When you're gone," she replied briefly and started brushing his hair a little rough.  
"Why?" It hurt surprisingly, but he didn't make a sound.  
"Because otherwise I'd have a real tantrum and the dress wouldn't survive."  
He snorted and grimaced as she plucked at his hair with magic. And then he sighed discontentedly as he looked in the mirror.  
"I'm not a girl." A short braid hung above his collar, while a few shorter strands were pinned to his temples and cheeks with magic.  
"I think it looks bold," Romy remarked coolly on his disapproval.  
"It's silly. This stupid cape and this second scabbard without sword and the gloves..." The gloves were tucked into the belt, because wearing them would crown the ridiculousness of his outfit.  
Romy sighed and visibly suppressed a stronger reaction. "Buzz off."

~

In the chapel, Isaac was already kneeling in front of the altar on a prayer cushion. His clothes were simple and white and made him look even paler than he already was. He didn't look up, but in response he squinted his eyes even tighter as Sam knelt on a second cushion next to him. This part of the ceremony, the solitary prayer in a chapel or church, was intended to be calming, but usually had the opposite effect.  
Sam, who was already a knight, knelt next to his highly nervous squire and waited for himself to be made a dragon knight. So that he could become a dragon. It was disturbing and unbelievable and... he had no words for it, so he instead recalled his actual accolade.

Sometime later, when Sam's knees began to hurt, two knights of the Queen's Guard and four squires picked them up and accompanied them to the throne room. The heavy boots banged on the stone floor and Sam felt quite silly with his fluttering cape, but Isaac, who also wore a white cape, wore it with pride and so Sam suppressed the impulse to pluck at it uneasily. They had to wait in front of the throne room, which was normal, and Sam hesitated for a moment before breaking the tense silence.  
"I'm proud of you," he said quietly and Isaac looked up. Blushing, he managed to get a smile on his face.  
"Thank you, Sir."  
"Sam will do."  
"Only afterwards." They grinned stupidly at each other and then the heavy double door was opened.

The two knights marched ahead and the four squires surrounded them like a guard of honour, but to Sam it still seemed a little threatening.  
The first thing he became aware of was that, as at the previous celebrations, he was completely unaware of any of the guests here in the castle. The throne room was full to bursting, but Romy's rooms were so far off the beaten track that everyday life flowed by unnoticed. All the witches whose eyes were on him worried him a little, above all Queen Ruby herself, who as so often showed the touch of a mocking smile. Ellie- expressionless face- had come with her three knights- excited, skeptical, discontent-, Jocelyn- also emphatically neutral- was sitting in her armchair, holding Erik's hand, who was sitting on a plain chair beside her, holding his right arm a little strange.  
And next to it stood Romy. When Sam looked at her, he almost stumbled over his own feet. She seemed to shine from within, her pale skin shimmered, her light blond hair looked like powdered with gold dust. The dark green dress with light green lace gave her a grace that would have seemed ridiculous on a smaller woman. Sam involuntarily thought of the stories about elves - tall and thin and pale and beautiful, only the pointy ears were missing.  
"Sir Samson." Ruby managed to put a mocking amusement into these two words, but Sam had to admit that he almost ran into Isaac because he was too busy staring at Romy.  
"Your Majesty." He bowed halfway and forced himself to concentrate on what was happening.  
"Isaac Ferricstone."  
"My Queen." Isaac whispered and bowed down much deeper.  
"Sir Samson, your squire Isaac stands here to receive the accolade. Do you think he's worthy?" Such a question was also common in Whitehill, but Sam had no idea how to answer it. Isaac had not taken any exams and had not completed his seven years of service.  
"Your Majesty..." He looked at Isaac, whose Adam's apple was visibly hopping. "Isaac has been travelling with me through the kingdoms for several years without undergoing comprehensive and standard training." He swallowed, the tension in the hall was almost palpable. "I confess guilty for all deficiencies in the theory. It would have been my duty to teach him, no matter where we were."  
Ruby's dark eyes sparkled and her lips twitched amused.  
"For the lack of practical experience in fighting skilled men, I hope your commander has helped a little. As for dishonorable bandits, mad wizards, and kidnapper-dragons, I can assure you that Isaac has gained enough experience." Sam heard giggles; at his father's court such a remark would have been received with the utmost indignation.  
"Isaac has served me faithfully in recent years as a squire and companion and friend." Sam nodded slightly to Ruby. "I consider him worthy."  
Ruby smiled and stood up full of verve. "Isaac Ferricstone, step forward!"  
Isaac took a shaky step, then another and sank to a knee, while from the side a servant brought a sword which Ruby grabbed without hesitation. Judging by the way she did, Sam wouldn't have been surprised if she could have fought with it. Ruby tapped Isaac with the tip of the sword on his left shoulder, then on his right, and then pushed his chin up with it.  
"As Queen of Darkmoore, as Witch of the Old Blood, I hereby declare you Knight of Darkmoore." Gerald would have used the _Pluralis Majestatis_ in such a moment, but Sam wasn't as surprised by the formlessness of the witches as he was at the beginning.  
"Serve your queen well, Sir Isaac, serve your witch and protect my kingdom." In Whitehill the young man got a last slap in the face, but Ruby lifted the tip of the sword a bit and cut Isaac visibly into the cheek, then she nodded to him and handed him the weapon.  
"Sir Isaac."  
"Your Majesty." Wobbly he came to his feet and bowed deeply. Then he turned to the side and stepped almost hesitantly towards Romy, before whom he fell again on a knee.  
"Princess", his voice squeaked as if he were in a breaking voice, "honour me and-" he swallowed audibly, "and accept my sword." Romy seemed no less nervous when she put her fingertips on the flat blade.  
"You honor me, sir, but I am a princess and not trained in swordplay. So keep it and bring glory to my name." She sounded as if she had memorized the words desperately.  
"With pleasure, my Princess," whispered Isaac and rose and then Sam was a little surprised to see Romy pull a green ribbon out of her hair and wrap it around Isaac's upper arm where it stood out clearly from the white shirt sleeve. Isaac put the sword away and because he was now officially Romy's knight, he stepped behind her and clasped his hands behind his back; suddenly he seemed much more mature than half an hour ago.  
"Sir Samson."  
Sam swallowed and turned his attention back to Ruby, although he would rather have looked at Romy, who was flushed with nervousness under all the attention of all the people. "Your Majesty."  
"I have been told that you have already slain seven dragons."  
"That's right. All seven had kidnapped a young lady and were not willing to negotiate."  
"Among others my own daughter," Ruby remarked and couldn't hide her amusement, even if it wasn't true, because the dragon was Romy's father after all and she had only visited him and- Sam bowed his head in agreement.  
"You're already a knight, but you're still entitled to a reward." Another servant appeared, also offering a sword. It was slim and longer than a knight's standard sword, but beautiful in its simplicity. Sam knelt down and bowed his head. The tip of the sword touched his left shoulder, his right shoulder and then drilled into the skin under his chin. He raised his gaze, let it glide over the fine blood-grooves of the blade, over the quillon, which looked like it was covered with dragon scales, the handle wrapped in black leather, obviously made for a larger hand than that of the queen, up to Ruby's face. Only when their eyes met did she say - and all amusement had disappeared -:  
"As Queen of Darkmoore, as Witch of the Old Blood, I declare you, Sir Samson, Dragon Knight of Darkmoore and Guard of Honor of the Blackwood family. Serve your witch well, Sir Samson, and serve my daughter with your life." She cut him in the cheek and then handed him the new sword, which he received and then rose. He nodded to Ruby.  
"Your Majesty." Then, like Isaac before him, he turned to Romy and knelt before her to stretch out his sword towards her.  
"Honor me and accept my sword, Princess."  
"The honour is all mine, sir." Romy's voice was little more than a whisper and her fingers, which she placed on the blade, trembled. "Keep your sword and bear it in my name."  
"It shall be my pleasure, Princess." He rose and sheathed the sword in the second scabbard, in the meantime Romy had taken out a second green ribbon and wrapped it around his upper arm, but then she put her hand on his cheek to heal the cut there.  
He had to control himself not to nestle into her touch, let alone kiss her palm. And Romy smiled. It was a nervous but honest smile, with sparkling eyes and dainty dimples and Sam just stood there for a good moment staring at her. Only when someone cleared the throat audibly did he remember that he was to lead her to the adjacent ballroom, where the actual celebration of the Longest Night was to take place.  
So he held out the hand she grabbed and breathed a formal kiss on the back of her hand before fulfilling his duty.

~

He had no idea what he had been eating or drinking about the next few hours, who he was talking to or what else happened. He held Romy's hand and looked at her and was happy. He even only noticed that musicians were in the ballroom when they played the prelude to a Pavana, the courtly step dance with which especially the young nobles in Whitehill put themselves on display.  
"Would you like to dance?" he heard himself ask, in a somewhat shy tone of voice. Romy blushed.  
"That's pretty much the only dance I've ever learned," she admitted, but bowed her head in agreement. So he led her to the middle of the hall, where other couples had already gathered, and bowed just in time, without letting go of her hand at the outstretched arm.  
In Whitehill it was a dance to show oneself and to set a signal with the choice of partner, even though the ladies had to lower their gaze while dancing.  
In Darkmoore, eye contact was maintained and Sam became warm, although the dance was anything but strenuous. In a skilful change, the Pavana passed into a Galliard, the much more vivid jumping dance, which Romy didn't seem to notice and continued dancing accordingly. The only problem Sam had was the strange turn of the women at the end, which he didn't know and which made Romy find herself almost in his arms - although he wasn't necessarily unhappy about that.  
"I never thought this could be fun," she explained with reddened cheeks and raised her hand to wipe a strand from her forehead.  
Sam was faster. For a tiny moment, he wondered why her smile froze so suddenly, but he kissed her before the question really mattered. Yes, she was taller than him with her high heels, but if she had been smaller, she wouldn't be his elven- witch anymore and so he couldn't care less. Besides, he enjoyed too much the shy and awkward way she kissed back.  
The cheering that began ripped him back into reality and he blinked.  
"I think," Romy started and licked her lips, "we should withdraw."  
"Yes," Sam agreed, and his gaze wandered from her lips down to her lace-covered neckline, "that sounds like a good idea." She reached for his hand and with as much dignity as possible they left the hall, while Sam caught a very irritated glance from Franz.

When they had made about half the way to Romy's rooms, Sam let her go. He suddenly had a booming headache and felt pukey. Romy didn't seem to glow half as much as she did before, but that could be due to the time. She grabbed him by the arm and almost had to drag him through the door at the end.  
"Help me with the dress," she said, as soon as the door had closed. He laboriously choked down a little saliva and groaned suppressed, he would have preferred to vomit so that this nausea would stop.  
"Sam, the dress."  
He blinked and tried to loosen the lacing on her back, but his fingers trembled too much.  
"Sit down." Her voice sounded far away and yet right at his ear, he heard a ratchet and ripping and saw green clouds fall to the ground, followed by something bright that could only be her corset. As if it had squeezed _him_ in, he could suddenly breathe again and the nausea subsided so much that he could sit down and hold on to the table. He blinked at Romy, standing only in her undergarment, grazing her shoes off her feet and then falling clumsily onto another chair. She sighed and touched her lips as if she couldn't believe they were still there.  
"How on earth did I come up with the idea of kissing you?" In retrospect, it suddenly seemed like a mystery to him.  
"That was intentional." She blushed deeply. "Well, I mean-"  
"You wanted me to kiss you? All you had to do was ask."  
"You would have said no."  
Would he have? He would have.  
"But it's more complicated than that."  
"Really?"  
She nodded and took a deep breath.  
"Could I please get an explanation?"  
She nodded again and looked at the floor for a moment. "Well... Jocelyn... A few weeks ago... you..."  
"...yes?" The headaches had subsided to such an extent that he hopefully could follow her.  
"When you started responding to my magic, I noticed a... kind of disturbance. It took a while, but then I found the cause. Jocelyn has attached a small, mean and very effective love spell to your natural interest for her."  
"Oh..." That probably explained a lot.  
"I've been trying for the last few weeks to get it off you somehow. Probably that's why you felt bad all the time..." Unhappily, she looked at him. "I tried everything, but... but in the end I had no other choice. I... I overwrote Jocelyn's magic with a stronger one of my own."  
"You... did what?" Stunned, he looked at her.  
"I bound the spell to the dress" - the same lay in shreds on the floor - "and provided it with a closing formula! It dissolved itself when you kissed me."  
Insecure, he looked at her.  
"I'm sorry," she whispered and looked at her hands in her lap. "I didn't know what else to do. And I'm still not sure if it worked, if you even remember our conversation here tomorrow."  
"You have..." He closed his mouth again, he didn't know what to say.  
"Jocelyn has tried to sabotage our bond. Probably even built in some disinterest in me, I don't know. But please believe me, love spells are not my style and-"  
"Would have surprised me", he muttered in between. Now it was her who closed her mouth again.  
The memories of the evening were blurred, although they had left the ballroom not long ago.  
"You seemed happy," he noticed when he was sure of it.  
"I never cared before, but a man's attention can be quite nice," she muttered, blushing.  
"Even if it's not real?"  
"As if I had a comparison..." There was bitterness in her voice and she stood up, wrapped her arms around her and turned to leave.  
"I said some pretty mean things, didn't I?" he asked worried and then added hurriedly: "Well, not tonight, but before... "  
"It's not your fault I'm too tall and too thin," she said over her shoulder and started moving. He quickly got up and followed her.  
"I still shouldn't have said it, magic or not. Romy wait!" He held her by the arm as she tried to disappear into the bathroom. "You're pretty." A clear statement with a full stop behind it, but she looked at him doubtfully. It must be terribly hurtful to be constantly compared to your sister.  
"You are pretty," he repeated more quietly. "That was more or less the first thing that came to mind when we met. It just feels like I... _forgot_." He couldn't think of a better word for it.  
"The magic," she muttered and turned her gaze away. She sighed quietly. "I am still too tall and too thin."  
"Depends on the point of view. No matter what a woman looks like, somewhere there's a man for whom she's the most beautiful woman in the world." He meant it, but she only entered the bathroom and closed the door. Judging by the sound, she leaned against it from the inside. He sighed quietly and long and began to change.

He had learned in the morning that he had killed Romy's father.  
Had learned that he was to become a dragon.  
Had worn clothes from the skin of Romy's father.  
Had been under two love spells at the same time and was still fighting the last remnants of the side effects.  
And yet he stood here comforting Romy, who had inferiority complexes next to her sister.  
Something was going wrong.  
Nevertheless, he put on the clothes he wore to sleep and shoved away all the thoughts of dragons and fathers and love spells. He needed sleep, a clear head and then he could think about it over a nice cheese omelet with bacon tomorrow morning.  
"Sam."  
He had just reached the door to the lab when Romy called for him. He turned halfway and saw her standing in the door to the bedroom.  
"I was serious, you know."  
"About what?" he asked skeptically.  
"I like your hair. And the braid."  
"Oh." Embarrassed, he noticed that he still had the thin leather ribbon in his hair and loosened it before he ran his fingers through it. Romy also seemed terribly embarrassed, her cheeks had red spots - but she had that strange half smile on her face. It felt like the conversation wasn't over yet, but Sam didn't know what to say, and instead said:  
"Good night, Romy."  
"Good night, Sam."  
It was the first time they ended a day like this.


	21. To conceal the truth doesn't mean one is lying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking is still not Romy's strongest talent...

Sam fought a dragon just big enough to annoy him without being overly dangerous. But when the dragon fell dead to the ground, he turned into a human - a man who strangely resembled Gerald.

In the midst of black-grey clouds, Romy sat, wounded and bleeding and frightened. Sam ran towards her, holding the dagger she had given him. He knew that at any moment some monsters would jump out of the clouds. He knew that Romy's death was the only way out. And yet he gave her the dagger and waited with his bare hands for the attack to protect her.

A muffled knock from far away ripped Sam from his nightmares, which almost immediately faded. Still, his clothes were wet from the fear sweat, and he trembled as he stood up on the next knock. Rubbing his face, he stumbled through the lab and then through the main room before opening the door and blinking at Isaac a little irritated. He blinked back and looked past Sam with his head crooked.  
"I didn't think you'd get dressed afterwards."  
Sam blinked, then half-turned to follow Isaac's gaze and saw Romy's torn dress lying on the floor.  
"Oh." He looked back at Isaac. "It's not what it looks like."  
"No. That's why you're standing here completely lost in Romy's rooms early in the morning," Isaac returned dryly.  
"We have not... well... No." Sam shook his head.  
"You kissed her in the middle of the ballroom and then you just disappeared."  
Slowly Sam woke up and sighed rubbing his eyes. "I know, but it's still not what it looks like. It's a bit complicated, but all we do is talk."  
"That happens more often?" Isaac looked like he couldn't believe it.  
"From time to time. My goodness, even_ if_ there was something... We're talking about my future wife." With these words he got a little nauseous, but for Isaac he wasn't sure how much truth his maltreated mind would bear.  
"I know. Nevertheless. It's not appropriate."  
"I know." Sam suppressed a rolling of his eyes and sighed softly. The only thing missing was that he had to talk to Isaac about moral missteps based on completely different levels of perception.  
"What do you want at this hour anyway? Shouldn't you be hung-over in the barracks?"  
"Well." Isaac shrugged. "The others celebrated my accolade sufficiently. And now they're whining and puking. I wanted to ask Romy something that could help."  
"Romy is still sleeping," Sam said and yawned, waving Isaac in. In fact, the bedroom door was open - although he hadn't really come from there - which was otherwise only the case during her moontime and was an unspoken request.  
"I can give you a tea that also helps. Not magical, but better than nothing."  
"Okay..." Isaac simply said and followed him to the lab. "Jonas is already gone?"  
Irritated, Sam blinked into the herb rack until he remembered what Romy Isaac had told him.  
"The man sleeps incredibly little," he answered belatedly and pulled the first small can from the shelf.

With growing fascination, Isaac watched Sam mix the herbs and then fill them into a small linen bag.  
"Don't let it steep too long, otherwise it will be disgustingly bitter."  
"Thank you." Isaac nodded. "How do you know all this?"  
"I told you we'd talk. About herbs or politics." Sam shrugged. "We're going to spend the rest of our lives together, you have to build common ground." He was reluctant to say such things, but Isaac nodded understandingly.  
"Apparently I have a teachable student," Romy said at the moment and the two men flinched. She stood in the doorway with her braid dishevelled and her nightgown on, and Isaac blushed deeply.  
"I have a good teacher," Sam returned and Romy snorted with rolling eyes.  
"Will you stay for breakfast?" she asked Isaac, who shook his head and allusivly lifted the bag.  
"No, otherwise the others would moan to death."  
"Stir in honey if you have. For those who have already vomited."  
He nodded and together they went back to the main room.  
"Because of the ring..." Romy started then and Isaac raised a brow blushing. "Ask Commander Richard. If he can't give you instructions, go straight to my mother after lunch today."  
"All right. Thank you," Isaac mumbled, embarrassed, bowing halfway in Romy's direction and leaving, while Sam and Romy almost simultaneously sank to their ancestral places at the dining table.

Sam got a headache and rubbed his temples before burying his face in his hands. He began to freeze in the still damp clothes.  
"Get dressed," Romy said quietly and he nodded without moving. But instead of repeating her request, she touched him at the temple and after a moment the nightmares of the night came back with full force.  
The helpless horror at the sight of the transforming dragon. The desire to protect Romy, against all hope, even though it would cost him his life.  
A quiet wheeze slipped from him.  
"You're afraid," she said quietly and strangely surprised.  
"Of course I am." He looked up. "Only stupid people have no fears."  
She shook her head weakly. "Why are you afraid? Of what?"  
"Of what?" he repeated and raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Excuse me, but in your oh so important ritual almost all men die! What do you think? That I rely on you not wanting my death? And I don't want to become a dragon, that's absolutely insane!"  
She raised her hand as if she wanted to touch him and then let it sink. "Sam..." She almost sounded tortured and he had the dull feeling that she was hiding something from him again.  
"Why didn't you tell me earlier who the dragon was?" he wanted to know and looked at her with his head crooked. "If you want to be honest with me, be honest. The truth doesn't get better or more important just because the moment is another."  
"But there are wrong moments."  
He took a deep breath, then swallowed the remark that was on his tongue and said instead: "You want me to believe you, to trust you, yes? You want me to go into the ritual without fear. Then a few nice words are not enough." The headache faded a little.  
"I _can't_ tell you the whole truth, the ritual forbids it!"  
"Then tell me as much as you can."  
She licked her lips. "The men usually die because their witch did not prepare them well enough or because they are too weak. I could have stopped when you started responding to the magic, that would have been enough for you to finish the ritual." She paused and hesitated for a moment, looking at the tabletop. "Most witches don't _want_ their Ritual Knight to survive."  
"Why?"  
"Before the ritual, the bond between witch and knight is individual, but usually very one-sided. After the ritual it is a give and take until one dies. A witch can dismiss a knight like Isaac at any time, a ritual knight not. Most witches don't want such a bond."  
"So... they just let the men die?" he assured himself in disbelief.  
"Or kill them in the end." Romy nodded weakly and Sam grimaced.  
"Is there anything else I should know?"  
She made a helpless gesture. "We've created a teacher-student bond that works well. And... we are like friends, aren't we?"  
Resigned and yet a little angry, he sighed. "Don't ask me. I have no idea to what extent my feelings for you witches are reliable in any way."  
"I see..." she murmured. If he wasn't forced to protect her, would he still do it? Would he let himself be torn to pieces for her? Was he drilled this much as a knight? Before he could think about it any further, she reached for his arm and pushed the sleeve up a bit. With her thumb she stroked over the pale scar she had caused herself.  
"This is part of the ritual," she said quietly and pulled her hand back. "Afterwards the scar will disappear."  
"A ritual warning not to come too close?" he asked, frowning. He remembered Henry's explanation of what exactly she had smeared on his skin.  
"Yes. A ritual warning..." She made a face. "That's disgusting and embarrassing and absolutely unnecessary, if you ask me."  
"You did it anyway," he remarked dryly and she shrugged half-heartedly.  
"I wouldn't do it again. Even if it has no effect anymore."  
"Except disgust," he said before he thought about it.  
"During sex you have the stuff somewhere else than just on your arm," she gave back cool. "But maybe you prefer artificial lubricants." She rose and it took a moment for Sam to understand what she meant. It wasn't until she reached the bedroom door that he found his words again.  
"I didn't sleep with Owen!" Over her shoulder she gave him a cold, examining look, but said nothing.  
As in their first encounter, uncertainty suddenly filled him.  
He had no idea where they were standing.

~

Sam had to lie to Isaac so he wouldn't hurt him. Romy had to lie to Sam because she had to keep quiet about the truth.  
None of it was fair.  
With a suppressed sigh, Sam pulled the new sword out of its sheath and swung it testing through the air. He would have to get used to it, to the greater range and the changed weight.  
"You look like you need to let off steam," Owen noticed behind him and he turned around.  
"Are you volunteering?"  
Owen grinned. "Of course. Here on the training field as well as in your comfortable bed."  
Sam got red ears. Every thought of actually devoting himself to Owen had faded with Romy's cold comment.  
"We start slowly," Sam said and raised the sword.  
"Whatever you say," Owen said and raised his own sword casually before attacking from the movement.

Sam cursed like a knight shouldn't curse. He cursed, although he actually had no breath for it. But it did him good and Owen provoked him sufficiently until he gave the signal to stop. Breathing heavily, Sam just stood there for a moment until he put the sword away and took off the helmet. The cold air stung his heated head, but did good. Although the dragon leather gloves were thin, they kept extremely warm, and Sam carefully stuck them in his belt before running his bare fingers through his hair.  
"Everything all right?" Owen patted him friendly on the shoulder and Sam nodded thoughtfully. He would have loved a comforting embrace, but on the one hand the armor was in the way and on the other hand they had spectators. A dozen squires and a few off-duty guards had watched the fight and Sam nodded greetingly in their direction.  
"Let me know when you're ready for a second round," Owen said, and now his voice sounded worried. Sam gave him a short smile and wanted to give some polite answer when he saw out of the corner of his eye Isaac stomping out of the barracks into the yard. He was fully equipped, his sword on his hip, the shield on his arm, the helmet still in his hand. A real knight.  
"Damn it," it slipped Sam as the realization dawned on him. "I need a new squire."  
Owen laughed quietly. "Take a look around. Alone those over there look like they would kill for the occasion." And _they_ had very obviously heard both the one and the other remark, because there was a certain nervousness.  
"Hmm," Sam made and scrutinized the boys with a played strict look. "Maybe you should look for one, too."  
"Me? Owen sounded irritated. "I'm not a knight."  
"Maybe not now, but probably later."  
"Um..." With the remark, Sam had apparently completely flustered Owen, but the next sentence remained stuck in Sam's throat when he saw Romy, who had waved Isaac to her, and was now seriously talking to him. He nodded a little and then seemed to protest, pointing in Sam's direction - Sam thought he caught Romy's gaze - and shook his head vehemently, whereupon Romy protested. Finally Isaac nodded confirming and their routes parted. Sam looked at them frowning.  
"Hey, if you want, we can play a little with the squires so you can get an opinion," Owen suggested. Sam nodded.  
"I thought of asking Isaac for his thoughts," he said slowly and they started to move, back to the barracks. "He knows the others best."  
"Good idea. Although it's probably pretty weird to pick your own replacement."  
"Do you think so?"  
"I'd find it weird." Owen shrugged.

"You don't need a new squire," Isaac explained frowning as Sam spoke to him a little later.  
"Well, maybe not urgently, but-"  
"I'm still subordinate to you."  
That left Sam speechless for a moment.  
"You are a dragon knight, Sam, and therefore you cannot have a normal squire. Why do you think I am now officially a knight?" Isaac shook his head and smiled crookedly. "I'm your knight-squire, so to speak."  
"That sounds ridiculous," was all Sam got out.  
"Yes, doesn't it?" But Isaac shrugged and his smile became wider, happier.  
"Whatever." Sam was a little confused. "You're a knight now and you could have a squire. You're entitled to one."  
"Probably. But I don't want one. I... I don't think I'm ready for the responsibility yet." Why did Isaac suddenly sound so grown-up? But Sam sighed.  
"Do you think it was funny for me to suddenly have to depart with a disgruntled, unwilling brat?"  
First Isaac looked puzzled, then he laughed. "Okay, okay... We could share one."  
That sounded strange and strangely wrong, but Sam nodded.  
"You train him-" Isaac continued, but Sam interrupted him.  
"And you get all the advantages because you live together in the barracks, that's for sure."  
Isaac grinned cheerfully. "As if you would have such a hard time in your princely apartments and a bride to cuddle."  
"Speaking of... What did you actually discuss with her earlier?"  
Isaac frowned and looked at Sam. "For claiming you talk so much, you obviously talk about the wrong things."  
"Because...?"  
"She asked me to accompany her. She has to leave the castle and the area for a few errands."  
"And I'm not supposed to go with her or what?"  
"No."  
Sam made a face.  
"There's no reason to get jealous," Isaac promptly started carefully, but Sam silenced him with a gesture.  
"It's not that." It was the bond and the terrible feeling that her absence would trigger. And the fact that she hadn't told him anything about this short trip this morning when she had the opportunity.  
"It's all right, it's not your fault," Sam mumbled after a deep breath and nodded to Isaac.  
"Okay. Um... Because of the squire. Look at them and we'll talk about it when I get back, yeah?"  
Sam just nodded.

~

Romy packed two bags in an orderly and calm manner, which were meant to be put into saddlebags later. Sam stood in the door frame of the dressing room and watched as she folded a shirt and put it away.  
"Do you just want to stand there in silence?" she asked and looked up.  
"Were you planning to tell me at some point that you were disappearing?" he asked back coolly.  
"I'm not disappearing." Her voice was blank and she straightened up. "I just pushed various errands too long ahead of me and now time is running out."  
"I don't mean that." Sam shook his head weakly. "You had the opportunity this morning and still didn't say anything."  
"Because this morning I wasn't sure _when_."  
"You could have said it anyway."  
"What would it have changed?"  
"Not much, that's right, but that's not the point. You go and leave me behind. And due to the imposed protective instinct I go crazy here because you only take a greenhorn with you and I can't protect you." Angrily he sparkled at her, but left her no time for a reply. "Do you even know what it feels like? How miserable I am simply because your magic demands it of me?" He got loud.  
"Sam..."  
"All the pain for the preparations makes sense somehow, but this doesn't!"  
"Sam, please..."  
"I would rather admire you standing under a love spell for a year than be without you in this bond for a week! This is torture, here and here," he typed violently on his chest and forehead, "and you don't care!"  
She stared at him in amazement and so he turned around and stormed out.  
"Sam! Samson!"  
He stopped without turning around. To his surprise she suddenly wrapped her arms around him from behind.  
"I do care and I know how you feel, believe me," she said quietly and held him so tight it was almost unpleasant. Her chin drilled into his shoulder. "I have neglected one point in my preparations and therefore have to leave the castle for a while to run errands."  
"You take Isaac with you and not me," he said bitterly.  
"Because I need you here, Sam."  
He blinked irritatedly.  
"I made a mistake and now I haven't enough time, so you have to stay here and prepare the ritual. I trust you, okay?"  
Surprised, he searched for words.   
"The ritual must be held before the turn of the year and I don't know how long it will take for us in this weather."  
"I... I shall prepare one of your rituals?" he finally stammered, loosening her grip around his chest and turning around.  
She nodded seriously. "You can read runes, know how to handle the ingredients and have a little magic at your disposal. We leave tomorrow morning and I'll send a magical message before we get back so you don't start preparations too early."  
He couldn't do more than stare and nod.  
"I'm counting on you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reads this.  
There's still some time before Sam has to face the mysterious ritual, and there's still a lot that can happen. Are there things to talk about? Questions that need to be answered? Little scenes for which you have an idea? I like the idea of interactive stories, so just write it in the comments.  
=)


	22. Trust forces you under certain circumstances to make unpleasant decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has to prepare the little ritual and has some difficulties...

Snowflakes floated gracefully to the ground and shimmered in the witch's light that Romy had conjured. Isaac sniffed, one of the horses snorted and Sam tried not to shudder in the cold.  
"Your Highness." Alvin, a knight of the Queen's Guard who would accompany Romy and Isaac, nodded seriously to Sam. A good knight, calm and prudent - Sam trusted him well and so he nodded back.  
"Don't worry, Sam, we'll bring your princess back safe and sound," said Isaac, sniffing again and smiling confidently.  
"I really hope so," Sam grumbled. "Otherwise the whole stupid bridal search will start all over again."  
Isaac laughed quietly and took the reins from Alvin before he mounted. Whether Romy had heard Sam, he could not say.  
"The only dangerous thing is the weather," she said quietly.  
"You haven't eaten enough for having warming fat reserves."  
She just sighed. "Eat your vegetables well, ask Jonas or my mother for help in case of problems, stay away from Ellie and generally be a good little knight, yes?"  
"Do I _have_ to eat the vegetables?"  
"They don't slaughter a boar just for you."  
He pulled a pout and her mouth corners twitched, then she breathed a kiss on his cheek.  
"We'll be back soon."  
He nodded a little and watched her mount her mare Ylra. She adjusted her cap, plucked at her scarf and gloves and then gave Sam an honest smile before giving Ylra a silent command. None of the three looked back and Sam shivered and pulled his shoulders up; his little lantern standing behind him in the snow was now the only light on the gloomy morning.  
It was a perfect match for his mood.

~

As the sun set in the late afternoon, Sam caught himself for the first time looking east with his eyes closed and just standing there. His inner compass seemed to have a fishing hook, whose line rolled further and further, pulling painfully on him.

Romy had placed the book containing the instructions of the ritual on one of the work tables, bookmarked it and added a detailed rune table, but he couldn't concentrate. He had no idea how to take care of the preparations when he was feeling sick.

Sometime around midnight he paced restlessly up and down in his own rooms, already in pyjamas, but with throbbing headaches and a disgusting tug in his stomach. When it knocked on the bedroom door, he almost jumped out of his skin in shock.  
"Samson." It was Jonas holding a steaming cup in his hand.  
"What's... what's that?"  
"A tea to calm you down." The old man smiled compassionately. "Sleep helps, you know."  
Sam nodded and took the cup - the tea had a perfect drinking temperature.  
"You have a task, hold on to it," Jonas said gently and Sam nodded again. "If you use the stones, be careful. The magic will make you feel better, but eventually their reservoir will be exhausted."  
Sam nodded again and forced himself to smile. "Thank you, Jonas."  
"Romy trusts you, so take your task seriously and don't disappoint her."  
"I... okay."  
When Jonas left, Sam felt a little better, but at the same time terribly lonely.

~

_For the pentagram five candles are needed, three black and two white, or five green with each different oils added._

The book did not simply contain a list and then instructions, no. To Sam's annoyance, everything was in endless text form, and on top of that, the section he needed began in the middle of the page. With headaches and trembling fingers, he took notes, but progressed slowly. Thanks to the tea he had slept well, but still too little, and in the course of the day he felt sick and couldn't decide whether he was hot or cold.

_... and pound it in the mortar. Then divide it into three smoking bowls and place the bowls to the black candles._

Sam wasn't even finished with the descriptions for the preparation of the pentagram and the list of ingredients was already unpleasantly long. The throbbing in his head became more and more violent and at some point white dots danced in front of his eyes. He hadn't been able to get much down for both breakfast and lunch, but even though his stomach was growling, the thought of eating caused him severe nausea.

He stood in Romy's bedroom and took a deep breath. Her scent hung weakly in the air, as did remnants of magic. It was a real temptation to just lie down in her bed and press the nose into her pillow, but at the same time the idea was absurd. He wasn't lovesick, but suffered from withdrawal of magic - the former was a clear fact and the latter he repeated to himself again and again, although later, when he washed himself, the question came to him whether the bond Romy had forced on him was somehow related to the love spells. But even if, that thought had certainly not yet come to Romy.  
His own thoughts were interrupted by a knock. Irritated, he wrapped a towel around his hips and went into the main room of his apartment. Jonas or other servants would have simply entered in the meantime and so he opened the door curiously and blinked at Owen and Franz.  
"What are you doing here?"  
In response, Owen lifted up a basket. "Dinner."  
Sam's stomach rumbled and his throat tied up.  
"Jonas said you ate almost nothing," Franz added and grabbed Sam by the arm to push him back into the room. Sam's face spoke volumes, for Owen grinned cheerfully.  
"We'll make ourselves comfortable, eat something and then we'll make ourselves even more comfortable."  
"Ah. Yes. Okay..."  
"Put some clothes on," Franz ordered, and Sam was too surprised to disagree.

A few minutes later they had made themselves comfortable together on a sofa and Owen opened the basket. Cold roast, fresh bread, cheese, a white cheese cream, small smoked sausages... Sam sighed.  
"Eat at least a little bread," Franz said admonishingly.  
"Is it really just because Romy is gone?" Owen asked doubtingly and managed to smear the cheese cream not only on his slice of bread, but also on Franz's roast slice and Sam's cheek.  
"_Just?_" Sam asked back quietly and wiped his cheek. "When she first travelled for a few days, it was different. Differently bad."  
"Hmm," Owen chewed.  
"Henry can stay outside the castle for several days without any problems," Franz said before biting off his roast. That Henry was running errands for Ellie was now an old hat, but since he wore a ring, there was no danger of him running away.  
"Might be. But I don't have a ring, I'm just extremely bound to her. I don't think Romy really wanted it that way. At least not to that extent."  
"Because?" Owen asked.  
"Because she keeps telling me that I react way too strongly to different things."  
"Do you have a magical talent, like Erik?" Franz continued the interrogation.  
"No, she tested that." Sam ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced before taking the cheese covered bread Owen was holding out for him. "She doesn't know what it is."  
"Hmm," they both did at the same time and changed the subject.

Sometime a little later began the trembling. At first Sam was able to suppress it to some extent, but then it became so violent that he broke off in the middle of a sentence and almost slipped off the sofa. Making no bones about it, Owen grabbed him and helped him to the bed, where he took off his shoes and put him under the thick blankets. Sam closed his eyes and tried to at least breathe steadily, but he didn't succeed until Franz snuggled up to his back and Owen held him from the front.  
It could be minutes or hours, but at some point he calmed down and leaned his forehead against Owen's chest.  
"My friend, I don't want to see you when your sweetheart leaves you," Franz mocked good-naturedly and Owen laughed quietly.  
"That's not funny, guys," Sam mumbled angrily.  
"No, not really," Owen admitted. "But some things you have to take with humor, you know."  
Sam just sighed. "Thank you for being here."  
Franz pressed a kiss in his neck. "Of course."  
Sam sighed again, this time more relaxed and almost happy, although it still gnawed a little at him that he had left Franz alone with the Henry problem.  
"I lo- ngh!" In the middle of the word his body suddenly cramped.  
"Oh please no!" he heard Owen say tense.  
"What? What's going on?" Franz sounded worried.  
"Get away from him!"  
When Sam could blink again, Owen pressed him onto the bed with his own body weight.  
"What...?"  
"One of my people tried several times to get away from some herbs and then had such attacks. I don't know how it works with withdrawal of _magic_, but it's going to be a bad night."  
And Owen was right.

When Sam woke up, he felt like he was chewed through and spat out. He lay half on Owen, one hand cramped around Franz' hand, his neck stiff and his head pounding, but otherwise only a dull pain had remained deep in his bones. Apparently the worst was over. Carefully and with protesting muscles, he moved past the other two and then stumbled into the bathroom. When he then went into the main room because he heard dishes clattering, he was amazed. A basket of rolls, a huge selection of sausages and cheese and jams and creams, boiled eggs and a steaming pot of tea were ready for breakfast. On a plate was a small piece of paper.  
_Romy predicted they would take care of you. Eat, and when you feel better, remember your duties._  
Sam smiled.

~

Sam blinked at the runes. _An unborn child._ He blinked into the room, closed his eyes, breathed deeply and then looked at the book again. _An unborn child._ Half of what he read hardly made any sense to him as a non-witch, but he understood the meaning of: _then the knight and an unborn child position themselves in the middle of the pentagram and the ritual can begin._ There was no mention of a pregnant woman, only of the child. But if an unborn child should go somewhere without its mother...  
...it had to be separated from the mother before the actual birth. Sam shuddered, put the quill aside, took his list of ingredients- a good part of which had already been ticked off- and left the laboratory. _An unborn child._  
He pushed the thought away and stomped through the castle until he arrived in a rather remote part where there was an oppressively large storage of ingredients and reagents that were not often used. Here he had already found many things and he hoped that he would be able to work further through his list before he actually had to ask for help at some point.

On the sides of the shelves were notes and something like signposts carved and so he found his way around. He paused at a shelf that contained fish components. On his list were pickled fish eyes, which were used for some paste, and so he let his gaze wander over the shelf until he found a can with a matching label just within reach.  
"How are you progressing?"  
With a frightened squeak, Sam flinched back and almost stumbled into Ruby. "Your Majesty..."  
She nodded to him while an amused smile played around her lips. "Well?"  
"Oh... well..." Surprised, he showed her the list. "I'm searching for everything right now." The last point, the unborn child, he hadn't added to the list.  
"Very good, very good. Would you hand me the carp scales, please?" Ruby pointed up and Sam stretched out to give her a little tin. The first thing Romy had inculcated in him when she had taken him to such a storage place for the first time was: no magic. To contaminate ingredients before their use with magic was an sacrilege and could in the worst case blow up in one's face.  
"Thank you, Samson." Ruby smiled and turned the tin in the hands. "You'll find the N'Duja seeds in the kitchen, by the way, you only have to ask the storeroom master for them."  
Astonished, he looked at her. "I thought the seeds were poisonous."  
"Ah, someone was listening." Ruby giggled and seemed a little insane. "Oh, they are. But when used properly, they reduce sexual desire and believe me, it's much quieter in the barracks since my mother introduced this innovation."  
"Oh," Sam was perplexed. Ruby giggled again and turned to leave. But at the end of the long shelf she turned around again.  
"Oh... one of the kitchen maids and one of the dressmakers are visibly pregnant."  
He stared at her, she smiled knowingly and disappeared.

~

There were days when Sam felt bad, and there were days when he felt really bad. But after a week had passed, he had to expect Romy back every day and so he forced himself to work in the lab. In the meantime, he had accumulated a flood of notes and read everything five times before he really did a move. He mixed incense blends, stirred pastes, cooked a stinking potion and made a kind of wine. He sorted everything in such a way that it was ready to hand in the correct order and meticulously cleaned up the laboratory. The only thing missing was the unborn child, but he pushed that point away as best he could, even though Ruby's words kept poking around in his head.

But now that he was sitting with the others in the dining room of the barracks and somebody had unpacked a fiddle, he tried frantically to think of something else. Tomorrow the year ended, at the latest tomorrow Romy had to be back to perform the ritual, but for the moment Sam enjoyed the company and tried to listen to Owen, who had enthusiastically occupied himself with the squires and could talk about everyone for half an hour.  
"...but he doesn't think he can do it," Owen just said. Sam was not exactly sure who he was talking about, because the remark had already been made several times.  
"Who, now?" Franz asked in Sam's place, slightly absent. "Edwin or Nicholas?"  
"Tyler!"  
"Ah."  
"Oh."  
"Idiots! Why am I making such an effort here?"  
Before Sam or Franz could answer, Jonas suddenly said: "Samson, you should go."  
Sam flinched and half turned around. Jonas suddenly stood behind him and frowned critically.  
"I thought you'd take care of the preparations."  
"Well, I do. But I don't know when Romy will come back."  
Jonas' frown deepened. "She'll be here in a maximum of two hours."  
Astonished, Sam looked at him.  
"Did nobody tell you?"  
"Obviously not." He stood up, nodded to Owen and Franz and hurried out at Jonas' side.  
"You should hurry," Jonas said a few moments later.  
"Yes," Sam mumbled and mentally went through the orders for the pentagram, "I will."  
Somewhere in the back of his mind he came to the conclusion that Romy's return was probably the reason why he had felt so good in the last few hours, but at the same time the question arose why nobody had told him.  
Because the problem with the unborn child still remained...

~

Sam hurried through the castle, pushed open the door to Romy's apartment and stopped as if rooted in the laboratory. The large table stood in the pentagram. And on the table lay a woman in a plain white dress whose belly was visibly swollen. Whoever had brought her here had either no decency or a very sick sense of humour, for in the crook of her arm she held a miniature version of a baby basket. When Sam understood what he saw, his mouth suddenly became dry and his heart began to race.

_An unborn child. I trust you. I'm counting on you._

Slowly, infinitely slowly, he walked through the lab to a work table where he had left behind the small, freshly sharpened ritual knife. He wiped his sweaty hand on his pants and took the knife before stepping to the table in the pentagram even slower than before.

_I trust you. I'm counting on you._

When witches killed, it changed their magic, and Romy could hardly go for that as a healer witch.

_I trust you. I'm counting on you._

Carefully he cut the white dress open - it looked like a nightgown - and exposed the belly. The swell wasn't so big yet that the child could be born at any moment, which meant it probably didn't survive long outside the womb. But Sam knew that the midwives sometimes cut open the belly to get the baby out. Gordon had been born this way and their mother had obviously survived, but Sam was not a midwife and had neither the magic nor the knowledge to heal such a wound.

_I trust you. I'm counting on you._

Hesitantly he put his left hand on the baby-belly. The skin was soft and warm and smooth. He licked his lips, swallowed laboriously and lifted the knife. Under his left hand it twitched and frightened he retreated.  
"Great Mother," he whispered. It took a moment before he realized it had been the baby and put his hand back. Two heartbeats later he felt a gentle nudge again, very tender and careful, as if the baby was shy. He swallowed again and distorted his face as the baby nudged again.

_I trust you. I'm counting on you._

A baby. A little innocent being. He had no idea how to cut at all - exactly where and how deep and in which direction - without hurting the baby. It nudged again.

_I trust you. I'm counting on you._

He clearly remembered his mother's pregnancy with Gordon due to the large age gap and as crown prince he knew very well that he not only had to find a bride but also have children. The idea of one day feeling the movements of his own child had always touched him deeply, and now he was standing here and...

_I trust you. I'm counting on you._

He didn't know how long he stood there, downright waiting for the next nudge, and tried to overcome himself.  
"I'm sorry', he whispered finally and raised his hand with the knife, which trembled.  
"I'm sorry, really. Great Mother, I am so sorry." He lowered the tip to the soft skin and almost immediately a single drop of blood was released.  
"I can't disappoint my witch." He took a deep breath and then a hand covered his.  
"Don't, Sam."  
Confused he looked at the hand, saw the arm and then Romy standing there with big eyes. Her hair was ruffled by the wind, her face reddened by the cold; she breathed heavily, as if she had run.  
"Don't," she repeated emphatically. "Let go of the knife." But his fingers had clenched so much that Romy had to take it from him with gentle force. Something dripped on the blade and only when she wiped his cheek did he notice he was crying.

~

The pillow under his cheek was wet, despite the heavy blanket he froze. Arms wrapped around him and the scent of vanilla and winter spices surrounded him and only then did he realize that Romy had put him in her bed and was now curling protectively around him. He had no idea what had happened after she had taken the knife from him, how the ritual had gone, and questioningly he raised his head. Except for a little witch light, it was dark in the room.  
"What... did you... the baby..."  
"Shh." made Romy soft and pushed him back into the pillows.  
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want to disappoint you."  
"You would have disappointed me if you had done it," she said seriously and removed a strand from his forehead. "_I_ am sorry. I should have given you more information, some hints or my own notes... It is not necessary to... get the baby out. It also works without, but it used to be so common and therefore the book is a little... vague." She sounded unhappy. "I'm sorry."  
"I... I thought, if it changes your magic if you kill, it's only logical that I should do that for you, and-"  
"Shh. You didn't disappoint me. You did great." Her cold nose pressed against his forehead. "You did great, Sam."  
That made the tears shoot into his eyes again.  
"Shh..."  
But a sob shook him and Romy pulled him closer.  
"You did great," she repeated, but it didn't make sense in his head.  
"I disappointed you."  
"Nonsense."  
"But-"  
"I'm proud of you. As if I would make you a murderer."  
He felt her shake her head and graze his hair.  
"The baby is now carrying all the magical effects that ever fell on you and that didn't come from me. It lives and will live. Sam, you did not disappoint me, you did great."  
In response he sniffed and buried his face in the pillow. She mumbled something in witch language and sighed weakly before gently saying:  
"I'm glad to have you as my knight."


	23. Who works hard, can party hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the year...

Sam blinked into the twilight of the bedroom and wondered first and foremost how Romy could get enough air in that position. She had her face pressed against his chest and almost completely disappeared under the thick covers, and his arm had to press uncomfortably heavy on her shoulder. However, she was already awake, as he realized in surprise as she shoved her hand under his shirt and painted with her fingers on his skin.  
"Hurog...," he muttered dozily, in the meantime he truly recognized the runes everywhere.  
"Hurog means dragon," she said quietly.  
"Hmm..." Seemed plausible.  
"And Stretach means witch."  
"Hmm." He was not yet awake enough to voluntarily break his tongue or decipher the runes she was trailing on his back.  
"I didn't tell you about Antonidas earlier because my father and I had a rather... difficult relationship," she said very quietly after a moment.  
"Why?" Sam simply wanted to know and frowned. He repositioned his arm, which prompted Romy to nestle a little closer to him, which he found almost uncomfortable.  
"Well, first of all he was a little strange, since I can think. I never liked being in his company, but mother said we had to visit him regularly. I only met him twice in human form, but that was enough." The way she tensed with these words told Sam enough.  
"You look like him."  
"A lot," she whispered and it was clear how much she hated this fact.  
"And yet you also want to give his murderer a dragon shape," Sam remarked dryly.  
"You aren't a murderer."  
"I am a knight and knights kill. Dragons, monsters, people. Depending on the definition-"  
"That's your job. You fight to protect and save, not for money or lesser motives."  
He sighed, because in a way she was right.  
"You killed Antonidas because you thought he had kidnapped me. You would have murdered if you had killed the woman yesterday to get the child."  
"A woman doesn't have to die in such a procedure. My mother survived the midwives giving birth to Gordon like that."  
Now Romy shuddered and instinctively held her tight for a moment. "I pray that this will never happen to me," she muttered to his chest.  
"Are you afraid of having children?" he asked curiously.  
"Yes." The answer was clear and unambiguous. "I know how the body changes during pregnancy, but... the idea alone frightens me. The birth. A baby." She shuddered again.  
"Well, maybe after one or two children you'll have a few more curves."  
"Hey!" she gave him an angry pat and he giggled.  
"Not? Well then, no. As Princess of Darkmoore, you can do whatever you want." He shrugged. "So if you don't want any children, you don't have to get any."  
She gave a strangely skeptical snort. "Do you _want_ children?" she wanted to know then. "I mean, if you are to become king, you need an heir at some point, but in general...?"  
"Yes." He nodded thoughtfully. "One day. I love my siblings and I have experienced Gordon's babyhood and... yes, I want it all."  
"And a daughter named Valerie. A beautiful name."  
A sad smile crept on his face. "Valerie was a princess from Rockvalley. She was kidnapped by a dragon and..." He took a deep breath because the memories were not very pleasant. "The dragon didn't treat her very well. She died two days after I brought her back to her parents. She was only ten."  
"Oh." Romy seemed surprised. "I understand," she then gently added. "Is there a boy's name you like?"  
Now Sam snorted. "I'll discuss that with my wife when the time comes." For a moment he actually wished he could enjoy such a morning with a woman he loved. To touch and kiss her and enjoy the togetherness before duty called. But it was Romy, his witch - not his wife - who sighed in his arms.  
"Eleven days," she finally said.  
"And then?"  
"Until the ritual."  
"Oh." He swallowed hard.  
"I will give you as much detail as possible later about what you should do and the like."  
"What, is my presence not enough?"  
"No."  
"Damn."  
She poked a finger into his ribs. "I was proud of you for doing the preparations so well, so don't rest on your laurels now."  
"Yes, dear, I will be a good little knight," he mocked gently and she sighed. "Why are you so talkative now?" he wanted to know, and she sighed again, but this time differently.  
"I thought, everyone expects exactly that from us. That we cuddle and talk, don't they?"  
The answer astonished him a little. "Oh, well... Can we maybe interrupt this for peeing and breakfast?"  
She gave a surprisingly disgruntled grumble.  
"The peeing thing is urgent," he added and detached himself from her embrace.  
"That's not very romantic."  
"You spoke of cuddling and talking, not of romance." He slipped out of bed and saw a very lost Romy sitting in bed. "By the way, there was nothing about _romance_ in my job description as a ritual knight."  
"But in the pseudo-groom's."  
He paused. "You're right, damn it." Then he shrugged and, because he was strangely in a good mood, despite the topics they had raised, he grinned at her. "Well, pseudo-bride..." He bent over the bed with a swing and wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but because she flinched in surprise he hit the corner of her mouth. "See you at breakfast."

~

Sam's good mood suddenly faded when he learned about the family dinner. He had already digested the point that he counted as family for a few months, but there was some tension between the sisters and it was rumored that before Romy's departure parts of the castle had shaken because she and Ellie yelled at each other.

Six knights and four witches sat in tense silence at the table in Ruby's private dining room. Ruby was apparently in a bad mood and that was almost worse than her constant mockery, while Jocelyn and Romy dueled with glances. Meanwhile, Sam would have preferred to impale Henry, because he looked at Isaac with an ominously ill-tempered look - unfortunately Henry sat too far away. Isaac was highly nervous for his part and took a while to remember how to use cutlery properly, but then he attacked the food - notwithstanding the fact that none of the dishes contained meat. But even if it had, hardly anyone could have enjoyed a roast, because Sam's skin was tingling with all the magic in the air, and after a while Owen and Erik, who normally took such things quite stoically, looked rather tense.

Finally, when a clear broth with vegetable cubes and little balls, which consisted of more egg than fish, was served at the end of the meal, the mood finally began to tip over. Sam couldn't tell exactly why, but Romy suddenly drilled her fingernails into his thigh. Out of shock and pain, he sputtered the soup from the spoon he had just tried to shove into his mouth.  
"Dear, you're hurting me," he said carefully, breaking the silence. All looks twitched to him - because he had said something or because of his words remained unclear.  
"Excuse me," Romy said with awkward courtesy, and then it was Erik who spoke:  
"I think we knights should now join the others in the barracks and give the witches a little peace." Jerkily and with chairs scraping loudly, they rose and the door behind them had barely closed when they could already hear murmurs that someone yelling interrupted.  
"I'm very glad I'm not the one being yelled at," Franz remarked quietly and Owen grumbled in agreement, but Sam's gaze was on Henry, who kept eyeing Isaac. Quickly he took a few steps and grabbed him by the arm.  
"Come too close to Isaac and I'll make my threat come true, Henry," he hissed quietly. Henry blinked in surprise, then his lips twisted to a grin.  
"Ellie would quarter you."  
"Let her try."  
But Henry didn't stop grinning and so Sam let a little flame dance on his free hand - Henry's eyes immediately grew big.  
"Touch Isaac... and you live long enough to regret it." But before it could escalate right in the hallway, Erik intervened.  
"We all have our burdens to bear."  
"The sweet prince doesn't even wear a ring," Henry snorted and broke away from Sam's grip.  
"Not all slave rings are black and hang on the balls," Erik said coolly and went ahead while Sam tried to put the remark in context. Isaac was obviously faster.  
"But didn't you marry Jocelyn out of love?" The innocent tone didn't quite match the Isaac Sam knew.  
"Alas, I must disappoint you," Erik said. "It was the only way to do anything useful with my life after being ripped out of my original one." He said it so emotionless that Sam shuddered and Franz next to him grimaced. Isaac seemed distraught, but Erik continued, addressing Henry: "Every man who marries becomes a slave with a golden collar. The husband of a witch all the more." Then he cast a meaningful look over his shoulder at Sam.  
"_This_ hint my father didn't give to me", Sam mumbled uneasily and Owen's laughter lifted the gloomy mood.

~

When they entered the dining room of the barracks, cheers burst out. Three musicians with violin, flute and small drum stood on a table and played, a pleasant distance away there was an empty table in the otherwise full hall - Erik headed for it.  
"Oh, Sam," Franz whispered, "I should have warned you. It is a tradition here that the Knights of the Witches sing a song to please and appease the spirits of the old year, so that you can go into the new year untroubled."  
"And you're only telling me this _now_?" Sam whispered back in horror. But Franz's answer was drowned in another jubilation when servants and a few squires brought in beer and wine. Then there were plates with salty biscuits and other small snacks, which were also greeted as if all those present had had to starve for three days. The musicians played a pleasant tune and then Commander Richard gave a terribly boring speech. They were all decent enough to keep their mouths shut, but therefore they used the time to drink.

"... and now, I think, it's time to temper the spirits. Erik?" Richard nodded to Erik, who nodded barely.  
"Let's start with the knights of the youngest witch. Franz?"  
Franz sighed and nodded, got up and exchanged a few quiet words with the violinist. Then he cleared his throat and closed his eyes. It became quiet and slow, dreamy, the violinist began a gentle melody. Franz sang in the imperial language, but it was obvious that it was a sad love song. Sam's language skills were a little rusty, but he still remembered the lyrics roughly.  
"... I didn't write the most beautiful poem on paper. Look at your skin and read! With fingers and lips I left the words that my heart dictated..."  
When he was finished, there was applause and cheering whistle. Franz bowed his head gratefully and sat down again.  
"Owen?"  
Owen made a face, but rose and also spoke briefly to the violinist.

"A village once suffered great misery, for as in distant legend it was threatened by suffering, by a plague so scaly. And I don't mean the lord, no, even if he had scales, no, I mean the dragon beasts, always nasty, insatiable!"  
Sam giggled.  
"And a particularly brazen, bold, fat specimen represented his obsession with this village. It wanted to have a sacrifice to every full moon. A virgin, to whom it can feast richly and amicably. Yes, yes, that was his favourite dish, that's what he wants to eat: female delicacies!"  
Sam laughed, as did so many others. The song suited Owen and he performed it cheerfully and with acting support.  
"At first the village was united: that's really no problem! We have many virgins here, you are welcome to take them. Two years hardly anyone was ever shaken by the sacrifice, but finally the last old nun was fed."  
Sam sputtered into his beer, although a part of him shook his head over the blasphemous offence.  
"The dragon meanwhile was dragonly annoyed - because eating virgins he had imagined differently. He screamed: Now the young things finally come on the table! Nuns taste like shit, now stop with dried fish!"  
Because of the loud laughter Sam didn't get the exact wording from the rest, but the villagers sewed a lifelike doll and filled it with all sorts of hideous things, so that the dragon had to vomit and flew away ashamed. When Owen sat down again, Erik grinned and shoved a fresh mug of beer at him.  
"Henry?"  
Henry nodded pale. A little later he began to sing with a slightly trembling voice.  
"The forest lies dark in front of me, difficult my journey. No copper in my pocket, only the owl sings me a song."  
The grin on the faces of the others told Sam that the song wouldn't remain so harmless.  
"A little light there - what do I see? A girl beautiful and strange at the same time. Little wings on her back - and she speaks to me, her voice soft: You have three wishes free from me, the hard times are over. Whatever you want, wish it, I'll bring it here."  
Owen laughed quietly, while Henry's voice became more secure.  
"I think and think, what do I need? What do I want? I have no money and no home either. But for me another advantage matters... I have three wishes free, but two are the same to me. Because only the third one makes me horny and I say" Henry stopped at this point and almost all the others - including Owen, Franz and even Erik- yelled:  
"Bend over, fay!"  
"Bend over, fay! Cause wish is wish!"  
First irritated, then amused, Sam and Isaac exchanged a look, then they laughed with the others, while Henry continued singing. During the last refrain Sam sang along and then a highly nervous Isaac stumbled forward. He also sang a rather sad love song, but at least it ended with the man overcoming his lovesickness.

And then it was Sam's turn. Suddenly he was nervous as well. Singing in church or in a crowded tavern with everyone else was something completely different and his head was empty.  
"What shall it be?" the violinist asked curiously.  
"Um..." Party. Drinking. Celebrate. Knights. "Um... The Song of the Three Nymphs...?"  
"Okay..." The violinist nodded, muttered something to his companions and then nodded again to Sam, who cleared his throat. He stared at a spot on the wall and suddenly felt like in an exam.  
"There stood a castle on the forest hill- heya-heya-he! Underneath lay a sparkling lake-"  
"Heya-heya-he!" the others answered immediately. A good sign which encouraged Sam.  
"The lord called in for dance and play"  
"Heya-heya-he!"  
"I splurged a lot and drank too much."  
"Heya-heya-he!"  
"Believe me, I've seen it, three nymphs so beautiful. I was in love at once! Still waters run so deep. Believe me, I've seen it, three nymphs so beautiful. The passion called for me- still waters run so deep!" His fingers had stopped trembling and his gaze grazed Franz, who grinned happily at him.  
"The nymphs took me by the hand. We danced wildly on the riverbank. I hardly knew what happened to me, and they sang their nymph song and dragged me deep down-"  
"Heya-heya-he!"  
"-the clear lake my cold grave."  
"Heya-heya-he!"  
"Therefore I advise every wanderer"  
"Heya-heya-he!"  
"who is taken with the nymphs"  
"Heya-heya-he!"  
"Just take the one as wife my son"  
"Heya-heya-he!"  
"For who it's worth dying too."  
"Heya-heya-he!" Almost everyone sang the second chorus together and Sam sat down under wild cheers - bright red and grinning like an idiot.  
"Did you talk about nymphs or witches?" Owen asked over the noise and Sam shrugged.  
"Isn't it all the same anyway?"  
"Probably."  
With verve Sam emptied his beer mug and watched Erik go ahead. He cleared his throat in an affected manner and smiled an absolutely untypical mischievous smile.  
"Fate is a just woman loose, no one is able to hold her the candle. Always desired, lovely to look, but we will never understand her."  
"Hey ho, oh Fortuna, hey ho, Fortuna oh!" Sam sang along with the others, because he knew this song.  
"The mistress of joy and sorrow, she comes and goes at any time. Therefore sing along with us and join in so that she stays with you too."  
"Hey ho, oh Fortuna, hey ho, Fortuna oh!"  
The Great Mother had different aspects which were worshipped in different parts of the Eastern Kingdoms. In the north, in the mountains, she was the merciless Lady Winter, here in Darkmoore the wise Mother Earth and on the coast - where Erik came from - the fickle young Fortuna.  
"But she wouldn't be goddess of fate if she were so easy to have. Therefore I must see what remains: my mug and I in togetherness."  
Sam lifted his mug like everyone else. "Hey ho, oh Fortuna, hey ho, Fortuna oh!" The music became slower and Erik's voice a little deeper.  
"That's the way it goes for every man who can't find happiness. It remains the drunkenness and it's certain that this is a bad love affair."  
Slowly and deeply came the last chorus. "Hey ho, oh Fortuna, hey ho, Fortuna oooh..."

After this part of the celebration was over, plates of fist-sized fluffy dough balls, thickly glazed with sugar, were brought in. There was exactly one for each knight, squire or guard and they all took one.  
"Bite!", Commander Richard ordered amused and very obviously not quite sober any more finally. Sam's mouth was filling with sticky jam as a double "urgh!" sounded from somewhere. Jam was the normal filling, but there were always dough balls with mustard at such New Year celebrations - that should bring luck, but Sam saw the squire Nicholas distorting his face in disgust. And then it cracked in his mouth.  
"Huh?"  
"You have a nut?" Henry asked immediately.  
"Nut?", Sam mumbled with a full mouth. This part of the tradition was new to him.  
"There's always one with a hazelnut and one with an almond," Erik said with his face smudged.  
"What does it stand for?" Isaac asked curiously.  
"Hazelnuts for child blessing and almonds for happiness in marriage", Erik continued and now seemed a little gloating. Sam, who in the meantime had tried to find out which nut was in his mouth, paused.  
"What?" he mumbled again. Suddenly he was surrounded by curious comrades. He laboriously fumbled around with his tongue and distorted his face.  
"A hazelnut?" Owen asked worriedly.  
"An almond?" Franz asked excitedly.  
"Almond," Sam mumbled discontentedly, but cheers burst. Probably, so it went through his mind, most of them took everything as a reason to cheer now, but on the other hand the flow of alcohol did not diminish either. And when it came to the prospects for the next year, Sam took the wine courageously.

Some time later the squires Edwin and Tyler sang a song, whose lyrics didn't reach Sam until they reached the end of the first verse because of the noise.  
"And at night, when I knock on the door"  
"Princess!" yelled Leonardo in between.  
"then you just shake your head pitifully."  
"Princess", roared several squires - apparently that was part of it.  
"I don't seem to strike the right note. What I lack is just a little perfection."  
"Princess!"  
"Is it just mockery or is it scorn?"  
"Princess!"  
"Or it's the reward for a stupid man? I don't know what attracts me so much about you."  
"Princess!"  
"Maybe because you are sparing with your charms. Tell me, why am I doing this to myself?"  
"Princess!"  
"A normal man doesn't want a princess! Why can't I find a way out of your castle?"  
"Princess!" This time Sam bawled fervently with them.  
"Damn who's actually the boss?"  
"Princess!"

~

"Step. Sam. Sam, I said step!"  
Hands reached for him. It was a mystery to him where the stairs suddenly came from.  
"Why don't you just let him levitate?"  
"Because with such big and heavy objects - lift your feet, damn it - it's incredibly exhausting."  
Sam had to hold on to Romy and Isaac in order not to fall over.  
"And what if you just... remove the alcohol? From his body, I mean", Isaac groaned.  
"Then we won't be able to get him up the stairs at all afterwards."  
"Oh..."

"Hold him tight. Sam...?"  
Sam blinked hard, but the soft witch light dazzled.  
"Fine."  
He felt magic rushing through his body and then he threw up choking hard.  
"Urgh," Romy murmured in disgust, but he was too busy not to suffocate while his stomach rebelled.  
Later, when Isaac was the only thing holding him up, Romy said with a sigh:   
"Here, rinse your mouth out with this."  
Panting and with his eyes closed, he stretched out his hand, got a cup to hold and did as he was told.  
"Put him to bed, will you?"  
"I'll try," Isaac mumbled and tugged at Sam, who trembled trying to stay on his feet.

The bed, the room, the castle, the whole world swayed and Sam moaned quietly.  
"Stop complaining," Romy said angrily. She climbed into bed, which swayed even more, and Sam moaned again.  
"Be careful or we'll overturn."  
"Overturn?" She asked irritatedly, then she snorted, "Have you ever been on a real ship?"  
"No."  
"Then shut up."  
"But... but we'll otherwise go overboard."  
"Sam..."  
"Can you swim?"  
"What? No."  
With tremendous effort, Sam rolled to his side and then let himself tilt half on Romy, who squeaked protestingly.  
"Get off!"  
"I must hold you. You're too light, you know, and otherwise you'll go overboard."  
"Oh damn it, get off and stop with the silly metaphors!"  
He gave a denying sound and made himself comfortable instead. When he noticed where he was burying his nose, he sighed.  
"Owen is more comfortable. Your boobs are in the way."  
"Oh!" With an outraged outcry Romy magically pushed him away. "If you complain about my boobs once again, I'll reconsider if I want to keep you after the ritual!"  
Before he could say anything in his defense, another magical blow hit him and he barely managed to bend over the edge of the bed before choking again. Since his stomach was already empty, however, it just hurt terribly, and when the attack ended, he dropped on his back moaning.  
"Can you get up?"  
"Do I have to?" The answer was a magical tingling and then his bladder called with such force that his whole abdomen cramped.

"Why?" he asked miserably, as he dropped back into bed after the trip to the bathroom, where Romy sat and waited almost angrily. "Why?"  
"Either you suffer a little now or all day tomorrow."  
"But that is torture!"  
"Admittedly, it could be a bit kinder, but you don't deserve."  
"But..." Her gaze silenced him and he pulled the blanket up to his chin. To be on the safe side, he didn't even ask why she let him sleep in her bed.  
"Great Mother Earth, what have I done to deserve such a knight?" Romy muttered then and made the witchlight disappear.  
"Yesterday you were proud of me," Sam murmured meekly.  
"I must have been out of my mind."  
It was quiet for a while.  
"Happy New Year," she said then.  
"Happy New Year," he murmured back. And because he was still not quite sober, he glided through the bed and snuggled up to his witch.  
"Don't touch me," she protested half-heartedly. "I hate you right now."  
"I hate you too," he murmured back and buried his nose in her hair.  
She pulled his arm into a more comfortable position. "Idiotic little knight."  
"Nasty little witch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs they sing are translated after:  
"Allschön die Maid" by Versengold (Owen)  
"Wunsch ist Wunsch" by Feuerschwanz (Henry)  
"Drei Nymphen" by Dartagnan (Sam)  
"Oh Fortuna" by Feuerschwanz (Erik)  
"Prinzessin" by Feuerschwanz (the squires)


	24. The greatest doubt usually comes from yourself

Flanked by Owen and Isaac, Sam stomped into the squires' training hall, where a dozen couples were practicing.   
"Suggestions. Each two," Sam said curtly. He was tired and tense and generally not in a good mood - he hoped that this would bring some distraction.   
"Nicholas and Edwin," Owen said calmly.   
"Nicholas? I agree. But Edwin certainly not," Isaac said with a frown. Another point which worried Sam and which he didn't want to think about at the moment: Isaac.   
"What don't you like about Edwin?" Owen curiously wanted to know and all three turned their eyes to Edwin, who was fighting with Tyler. Leonardo stood next to them and watched them amused.   
"Edwin was supposed to be assigned to Erik and it's still being discussed."   
"But Erik is officially not an active-"   
"That would indeed be extremely rude," Sam interrupted Owen's protest. "By the way, he's too old."   
"Too old?" Owen seemed very irritated.   
"In Whitehill squires are assigned to a knight at fifteen or sixteen and Edwin is how old? Seventeen?"   
"Eighteen," Isaac replied a little absent.   
"If he hasn't already got his own fighting style, he's probably already adapted to Erik." Sam shrugged at Owen. "By the way, the three of them all make the same terrible beginner mistakes and just watching makes me aggressive." This was actually meant as a joke, but Owen's face didn't look as if the message had arrived. But all of a sudden he frowned past Sam.   
"Who's that?"   
Sam pulled up a brow in surprise. From the small side door a boy had sneaked in, a wooden sword in his hand, and now seemed pretty lost.   
"Darby," Isaac said slowly. "Well... his real name is Dar... Darberius or something like that. The commander brought him along a few days ago. He wasn't officially introduced as a squire, so he'll probably be one of the guards."   
"He looks pretty lost." Owen said what Sam thought.   
"Then go and take care of him," Sam suggested and with Owen's sceptical face he added: "He seems like he needs someone to protect him."   
"Oh." Owen nodded. "You're right." Just as Sam was about to give him an encouraging nudge, he set himself in motion.   
"I'm not sure it's a good idea," Isaac remarked critically.   
"Why? Owen takes him a little under his wing."   
Isaac started to answer when it sounded behind them:   
"Samson, a word." It was Jocelyn and Sam made a face, smoothed it out and only then turned around. He had come here to have a little rest from his own witch and now this.   
"What's up?" he asked calmly and walked up to her. After her love spell over Sam was broken, she was still a very attractive woman, but the special glitter had disappeared and what she had done even dampened his innocent enthusiasm of their very first encounter.   
"I don't want you to choose one of our squires," she said clearly and directly. "After Romy's ritual, you will leave Darkmoore and none of the men will accompany you except Isaac." Astonished, Sam looked at her. He blinked a few times and took a moment to understand her words. Of course, he would go home. Romy's ritual was the only reason he was here. He had even talked to Romy about it. Strange that Jocelyn's words seemed like a painful order to him.   
"Of course." He nodded. "Of course, you're right. Forgive me." With a crooked smile he looked at her and she nodded barely before leaving with waving skirts.

~

When Sam entered Romy's rooms he realized that someone was playing with magic on him again. The dull feeling in his head and the dizziness according to Jocelyn's words spoke for it. Did anyone want him not to think of home and stay? But even that thought was strangely diffuse and disappeared completely when he saw the big table covered with blankets standing in the pentagram. Romy had artificially rescheduled her moontime so it wouldn't collide with the ritual, and was supposed to avoid magic for the moment. When she stepped into his field of vision, she seemed as tense and tired as he himself. Recently she had nightmares and the fear in them always woke Sam up.   
"Everything all right?"   
Her answer was a mixture of nodding and shrugging. "Come on. We have work to do."   
"But..." The rest of the sentence died when she took off her shirt and undershirt with a flowing movement and unerringly threw them onto her desk. The ribs were very clearly visible and he didn't even want to think about her boobs. He blushed nevertheless and she sighed, although she was also bright red. She pointed to a worktable and sat down on the table in the pentagram. Confused, Sam went over to the worktable and took a sheet of paper with a short rune text and the special quill.   
"I... I should... Shall I write this in your skin?"   
"Yes."   
Hesitantly he sat down behind her on the table. His fingers trembled a little.   
"It's not much, so it shouldn't be more than four lines, even if you write a good deal bigger than me," she said as he carefully held on to her shoulder and put the slightly trembling quill on her skin.   
"I hope I'm not hurting you excessively..." he murmured instead.   
"Even if... it hopefully distracts me from the pain elsewhere."   
"Is it bad?" he asked quietly and carved the first rune.   
"Worse than usual, yes. But better than the alternative."   
"Hmm..."

It became five lines and when Sam leaned back to look at his work, the runes lit up bright green and disappeared. Romy groaned quietly.   
"It worked."   
"What was it good for?" he wanted to know and wiggled his fingers which had cramped around the quill.   
"An adjustment in the bond. From your side," she explained after a short hesitation, and he had the dull feeling she was lying, even though he had discovered his own name in the middle of the runes.   
"You're not wearing a ring, like the Ritual Knights normally do," she added as she saw his skeptical look and stood up to get dressed again.   
"Why not?"   
"I told you I don't like the slave principle." She avoided him, but he was not in the mood to discuss it now.   
"The day after tomorrow...", she then began without looking at him, "the day after tomorrow the others will leave."   
"I thought already tomorrow."   
"Ellie protested. She doesn't like the manor. Whatever. Owen and Franz want to say goodbye to you tomorrow."   
"And...?"   
"Enjoy the evening." Now she turned around and looked extremely tense.   
"I'm not sure whether I can do so."   
"I won't let you die," she said hard and sounded as if she had to convince herself of it. "If you die, that means I have failed."   
He raised a brow. "I can't imagine you failing."   
"It can happen anyway."   
Gently he shook his head. "You will not fail and I will not die. Deal?" She lowered her eyes and he sighed before approaching her and carefully embracing her. "You are a great witch, Romy. I am a spoiled prince and have defeated seven dragons, so you can't mess up this ritual."   
Only now did she return the embrace and sighed. "I don't quite understand the connection."   
"Dear, you are a witch. You have worked all these years towards this ritual. You have nothing else in your mind but this. So-"   
"You don't understand."   
"No? For seven years I tried to be a good crown prince and a good squire at the same time. I left Feather Springs feeling that I had done neither one nor the other well."   
"You are an outstanding knight."   
"Because for four years I had nothing else to do but to be a knight. And I didn't even do it well. Isaac would fail his theoretical knight exam miserably. You managed to teach me the runes within a few months and almost make a herbalist out of me."   
She made a suffocated sound, almost like a laugh.   
"Stop doubting yourself like that. I know you are a great witch. And I don't want to die, so that's a damn good reason to have faith in you."   
"I don't want you to die," she mumbled.   
"See?"   
"I want to have a dragon, so you _can't_ die."

~

The feast that spread before him seemed like his last meal to Sam. Tomorrow Ellie and her knights would leave and tomorrow the ritual would take place. His appetite was correspondingly subdued, the mood after an exuberant bath with an endless sea battle artificially cheerful.   
"... no, seriously. Jocelyn has dragged Ellie over the coals," Franz said and tore the meat of a chicken leg very unprincely with his teeth. Sam, who had missed the beginning because he thought too much about the next evening, looked at Franz critically.   
"Wouldn't have been necessary," Owen remarked with a full mouth and let his fork circulate meaningfully. "He wanted to take one of the laundry girls, so I took him." Unperturbed, he shrugged and took another portion of the meatballs in creamy sauce.   
"Nevertheless, it was high time someone told Ellie clearly that something was going wrong," Franz said and Sam nodded; so as not to have to answer, he stuffed a meatball into his mouth.

They had already been given a jug of heavy red wine for dinner, but Franz opened another bottle afterwards. They cuddled on the couch from left and right to Sam and for a while it was quiet. It was pleasant and Sam could have strangled Owen for a tiny moment when he broke the silence.   
"When I was little, I wanted to be Lord," he said thoughtfully. "As if it were a profession that could be taken up easily."   
Franz giggled while Sam smiled.   
"My mother didn't think the idea was so bad."   
"I wanted to become a knight," Franz said still giggling. "When I didn't pass the entrance exam, I decided I'd rather not become anything. Being prince would be enough."   
Sam snorted. "Before you decided so, you sulked for several months straight."   
"Yeeeaaah...." Rolling his eyes, Franz waved off. "Well, then my mother came around the corner with an engagement contract and explained to me that I had to become a husband and king and father at some point and that was enough for me."   
"It's enough, indeed," Owen agreed mockingly and raised his wine cup, cheering. Sam cheered back and then said thoughtfully:   
"I always wanted to be a knight and when I was on my way there, I wondered if it was such a good idea at all."   
"How would your search for a bride have turned out if you hadn't been running around rescuing ladies?" Owen wanted to know and Sam shrugged.   
"Probably I would have gone from lord to lord to king to lord, and there I would have tried to court some lady for a while each time." He made a face. "I would have hated it, I guess."   
"Yes," Franz agreed, stretched out, "this way would suit me better. Stupid only that somebody found me a bride without asking me."   
"I could have lived with that. As a king you are married to your kingdom."   
"But until you had become king, you would have had plenty of boredom," Franz said critically, while Owen laughed quietly.   
"To be married to the kingdom... Is a king then basically the husband of every woman?"   
Sam paused and then grinned broadly. "I should probably not discuss the idea with my father. Otherwise he will come up with stupid ideas, my mother will kill him for them and I will become king sooner than I thought." Owen and Franz laughed and then they talked about the ladies Sam had saved, Owen's adventures with Gavin and Franz' various conquests.   
Thereby they avoided the future at all costs - for very obvious reasons.

As always, when Sam was tipsy, he started giggling silly at some point. He giggled still when Owen took the wine cup from him and remarked that it might be better to go to bed. Franz took this as an opportunity to set his empty wine cup on the table and to announce:   
"It would be better if I left."   
"Why?" Sam- who forgot to giggle- and Owen asked confused in unison.   
"Because..." He lowered his gaze. "I have already tried to explain it to you. It is my fault. That we are here, I mean. That... that you might die tomorrow."   
Sam snorted and shook his head while he stood up. "Such nonsense. First, I won't die tomorrow and second, none of it's your fault."   
"But-"   
"No _but_. I fucked up finding myself a bride."   
Franz shook his head. "You don't understand, Sam. I had a crush on you and I believed... I screwed up, ruined our friendship and... Daisy would have... and..." He began to sob without stopping and Sam carefully took him in his arms.   
"Oh Franz, stop it, that's not true." Over Franz' head he threw a look to Owen for help and he also came along to lock Franz in a sandwich embrace from behind. Franz sobbed incomprehensibly on Sam's shoulder until Owen quietly said:   
"Come, let's go to bed and make ourselves comfortable and tomorrow the world will look better."

But Franz didn't really calm down, instead cried himself to sleep while Sam, who had silent tears running down his cheeks, held him in his arms and Owen - also with a compassionately tormented face - stroked his back. Finally Owen pulled a blanket over him and Sam slipped out of bed.   
Back in the main room he wiped his face with his sleeve and cursed suppressed. Owen wrapped his arms around him from behind.   
"He is broken," he whispered choked.   
"Oh damn it..." Sam whispered back, new tears rolling down his cheeks. "He used to be always cheerful, like a ray of sunshine during thunderstorms. It... it can't have been just that!"   
"Ellie was very clear," Owen mumbled and Sam felt something wet on his neck - Owen cried too.   
"Romy said that many witches wouldn't want the bond created by the ritual and would therefore kill the knight. But why is Ellie so stupid and takes a prince for it?"   
"Who knows. She's a pretty brute witch. I mean... maybe the other way around. A ruthless princess who uses her witchcraft because she has it."   
"Yes, but a halfway intelligent princess knows she can't just sacrifice a prince without causing diplomatic entanglements."   
"But who will find out about it? Who are you going to tell without revealing everything that happened to yourself?"   
"I don't know," Sam admitted after a moment of reflection. "I don't know." He sighed quietly and Owen mumbled:   
"The witches know exactly what power they have. If they wanted to, they could conquer all the Eastern Kingdoms."   
Sam shuddered and Owen held him tighter. "In my training as crown prince, my father had me read a book about the war with the empire. After that I couldn't touch a sword for a week without feeling sick."   
"And yet you have become a knight."   
"Yes. In a double sense, even, what irony."   
Owen gave an amused snort. "Then I also count as a knight. Do you think Gavin's father would accept it?"   
Now Sam had to giggle. "Give it a try."   
"Maybe I will..."

~

Sam woke up with a stiff neck, Franz' head on his chest and Owen in a crook of his arm. For quite a while he enjoyed the feeling of security and human warmth and couldn't bring himself to wake them both up.   
Ellie did that, because they both flinched at some point. Owen growled suppressed, his hands at his crotch, while Franz howled quietly.   
"Good morning," Sam said, as if it were a morning like any other.   
"Good? Not really," Franz grumbled.   
"Get up and don't moan, otherwise Ellie will punish you even more later," Owen gave back and swung out of bed. Since they had slept in their clothes, they didn't have to waste time dressing, but they looked correspondingly.   
Sam followed the two out into the hallway and tried to smile. Franz seemed to be a little embarrassed about his emotional outburst, for he avoided Sam's gaze.   
"See you in a couple of days, yeah?"   
Sam nodded and flinched in surprise when Franz gave him a quick kiss.   
"Keep your ears up, dude," Owen said with a nod and also gave Sam a kiss, which was noticeably longer.   
"See you in a few days," Sam said quietly and looked after them as they made their way down the hallway.


	25. Expectation and reality are often two different things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment of the ritual has come!

Sam's stomach protested. On the one hand because he was hungry, on the other because he was terribly sick with excitement. Jonas didn't care in the least, but tied Sam's hair together and then took a step back. Sam, for his part, took a step forward and glanced in the mirror. His clothes were plain and black, his hair freshly washed and Jonas had shaved him meticulously. Without the magic necklace, however, Sam felt a little naked, even though he never would have said it out loud.  
"Ready?" asked Jonas quietly.  
"Do I look like I am?" Sam asked back and reluctantly narrowed his brows. Jonas smiled encouragingly and then led him through the castle.

~

The door opened and Sam swallowed heavily as Jonas gave him a slight push. Behind a heavy table, Romy rose and wiped crumbs from the deep black dress. As the door closed with a muffled sound, Romy nodded to Sam.  
"Do you want one?" She pointed to a single cookie on a plate. Somehow the scene looked familiar to Sam, but he shook his head. Meanwhile he was nauseous.  
"No, thank you," he whispered, and she nodded just a little. The room even looked like her main room with the difference that books and papers were everywhere.  
"Then come."

He followed her into the next room that reminded of her lab, but was smaller and not half as crowded. In the pentagram that was set in the middle of the stone floor, there was a small cage in which a rabbit huddled. The blood sacrifice with which such a ritual had to begin. Sam took a deep breath and entered the pentagram first to take the rabbit out of the cage and then offer it to Romy. The little animal made shrill noises and struggled as if it knew exactly what its fate was. Romy nodded to Sam, took her little ritual knife out of her belt and began singing in witch language before entering the pentagram. The rabbit squealed in fear, but stopped trembling.  
"Stretach ma egara! Stretach ma matirna!" Romy grabbed the rabbit and drew the little blade over its throat, the blood ran over Sam's fingers, splashed on their clothes and dripped to the floor. She whispered a few more words and then painted runes on Sam's forehead and cheeks with bloody fingers. Then she paused and looked at him thoughtfully before nodding emphatically. Not that she had actually told him much about the process before, but he laid the dead rabbit on the floor and followed her into another room.

The room was tiny and basically contained only a hip-high column of black stone, on which stood a bowl of white stone. There was water in it and Romy washed her hands carefully before wiping them dry on her dress. Then Sam dipped the hands in the water and flinched. He had expected cold water, but it was almost too hot to be pleasant. He also wiped his hands dry on his trousers and then they went into the next room - a study full of bookshelves and papers, a heavy desk in a corner and a large armchair in the middle of a pentagram. Next to the armchair stood a small table with a single book on it. Together they entered the pentagram and Romy took a deep breath.  
"Raise your shirt."  
A little irritated, he did what he was told and she put a hand between his shoulder blades. With a murmur her hand got warm and then hot and it felt like his skin was ripping open, so he bit his lip to stay still. And then the feeling suddenly disappeared and Romy held the stiletto in her hand, which she had bound to him for punishment many months earlier. Since she hadn't used it for ages, he had almost forgotten. She laid it on the small table, took the book in her hand and sat down in the armchair. She had explained to him that this was the point at which the relationship between witch and knight was defined, and so he sat at her feet to listen to her _lesson_.

Romy read and read and read. Her voice calmed Sam down a little and his stomach rumbling became only hungry. They had already started after the usual time for dinner and apart from tea for breakfast and a rich broth for lunch he hadn't eaten anything - but the sacrificial animal had to be prepared as well. He flinched as Romy stroked his head and gave him a tense smile at his surprised look.  
And then she was finally finished. With a sigh she rose, put the book aside and nodded to him.  
"Dinner is waiting."  
He nodded back. They crossed the small room with the washing bowl, the laboratory and entered the main room, where dinner had already been served on the dining table. After they sat down, Sam suspiciously inspected the food. A clear broth with small meatballs, small pieces of breaded meat on something that was probably mashed potatoes, a bowl with fried innards and next to it a plate with two small tartlets.  
"Enjoy the meal," he muttered, Romy nodded tense and almost disgusted, and then they started eating.

The nausea of excitement came back as they left the room through another door and stepped onto a kind of terrace. There was also a pentagram in which Romy conjured up a shower of sparks - at least that's what it looked like to Sam. It couldn't have taken long, but it was bitterly cold outside and Sam began to freeze before Romy was finished. Then it felt like she reached into the void and pulled out a white and a black candle, handed the black one to Sam and lit both with a flick of her finger.  
"Come."  
He had a rough idea of what was about to happen, so he followed her down the steps by the side of the terrace into the garden.

Directly behind a waist-high hedge stood two man-high thin columns on which a white and a black candle were enthroned. Sam stepped forward and lit with his black candle the other one.  
"I am your knight - you are my witch."  
Romy lifted her white candle to the other. "I am your witch- you are my knight." Two, maybe three meters further on there were more columns where the whole scene was repeated. And repeated. And repeated. The path they followed seemed to meander endlessly through the dark garden and each time they said their sayings. Sam soon trembled with cold so much that hot wax kept dripping on his fingers and he had to struggle not to stutter.

At some point the contours of a pavilion pealed out of the darkness, but it took another little eternity for them to reach it. Inside was a pentagram with a circle of red candles. Romy told Sam to wait, entered the circle and lit the candles with a peace of mind that almost drove him mad.  
When the last red candle was lit, she began to sing and waved Sam to enter the pentagram. Carefully he crossed over the candles and grabbed her outstretched hand. Again, it took felt eternities for Romy to finish the ritual part and Sam wondered how different other ritual paths might look. Romy had mentioned that there could be several deaths and he could imagine that this place was suitable. Silently he thanked the Great Mother that Romy was not a bloodthirsty witch.

A flame ring that suddenly shot up from the small red candles and wrapped them, ripped Sam from his thoughts and involuntarily he made a step towards Romy. She nodded to him and when the flames went out, they left the pavilion. All the candles they had lit on the way here had disappeared and been replaced by red candles.  
"You are my knight - I am your witch," Romy said quietly and lit one of the two red candles in front of them on the high column.  
"You are my witch - I am your knight", Sam whispered with his teeth rattling and lit the second red candle.  
So they went back the long winding path and reached the terrace access again, but passed it to a second small terrace, which was a bit away.  
At which point did the knights die if they weren't strong enough?  
They placed the candles on the wide stone railing of the terrace and when Sam turned around, he noticed two doors. Behind it was the flickering of a fireplace, but as Romy headed towards the right door, he realized they were two different rooms. Right behind the door she paused and grabbed his arm.  
"Over there." She nodded to the left, close to the fireplace, where a small pentagram was embedded in the floor. "Wait there. Sit down, stand still, doesn't matter. But don't leave the pentagram under any circumstances, you hear?"  
This probably answered his question from a minute ago and he nodded to her request. While he sat down for comfort and enjoyed the warmth of the fire, Romy grazed her shoes off her feet and stepped barefoot into the much larger pentagram. Almost immediately, Sam had the feeling that the shadows in the room were beginning to dance. Romy's voice rose loudly and commandingly, and then Sam trembled at the power in it.

It took a while for Sam to realize that something was really dancing there. But it wasn't shadows, it was a kind of black fog. Fog that formed from the color of her dress, because the fabric bleached from black to dark green, brightening more and more as the fog became denser. When the dress was finally shining white (except for a few blood splashes), the fog formed undulating figures reaching for Romy. Her voice had now become rough, choppy, as if fighting - against the fog or inner demons?  
She fell to her knees, wheezed a few scratchy words and loosened something from her hair that she threw into the air. It exploded bright green and dazzled Sam. When he saw something again after a hectic blink, the fog had disappeared and Romy slowly took a breath.  
"Everything all right?" he whispered and she nodded with her eyes closed.  
"Is it over?"  
She swayed her head in a way that meant both _yes_ and _no_ and he sighed softly.

Romy took time to catch her breath again and then nodded to Sam.  
"Okay... there's a carafe of water over there..." Her voice broke, but Sam understood. He rose hastily and stepped into the shadows of the indicated direction, where a tiny table with a glass carafe and two crystal glasses stood. With trembling hands he poured water into both glasses and brought Romy one. It wasn't until she drank that he drank too.  
"Thank you," she whispered, managing half a smile. He nodded and smiled encouragingly back.  
"What... how much more is to come now?" he finally dared to ask and held out his hand as she laboriously rose.  
"The most important part."  
"The... oh..." It would be a long night, that much was certain. Only now did a real nervousness emerge on her face and that deeply disturbed him. The nausea came back and he hastily put away the empty glass because his hands began to tremble violently. Romy opened her mouth, but remained silent, nodding to him again and leaving the room back on the terrace. In the moonlight she appeared like a spirit in the now white dress. Sam wanted to remind her of her shoes, but kept his mouth shut as she turned right. He quickly followed her, entered the adjoining room and stopped as if rooted.

In daylight the room had to be painted in bright tones that shone and shimmered in the light of the fire. Here and there it glittered and flashed, but Sam's gaze stuck to the huge pentagram. Or rather the large bed that stood in it. And he understood.

The duality of being.  
Knight and witch - man and woman.  
The question of whether he was still virgin.  
The stuff with which she had burned his arm.  
The fact that witches were poisonous to men.  
The fact that, despite her twenty-three years, she was still treated as a child.

The ritual of maturity.

A witch's maiden night.

A part of him laughed, giggled hysterically - all the excitement and fears for this moment? Another part discreetly panicked. He certainly hadn't imagined it that way.  
"Take your clothes off," Romy whispered and when he gave her a quick glance, she looked shamefaced to the side. Since he didn't really have a choice, he took off his clothes and put them on the padded bench at the foot of the bed.  
What if he was so excited he couldn't...? The thought didn't make it any better and trembling, insecure, excited, nervous, he turned back to her. Under her gaze he felt the desire to cover his nakedness, but he suppressed the impulse. At the same time Romy pulled on two strange lacings running left and right along the sides of her dress and with a strange rustling dress and undergarment slid to the floor where they formed a bulged heap. _Too thin_ was the first thing that went through his mind. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable...

They looked at each other, mute, naked, embarrassed.  
"Maybe...," Sam finally began hesitantly and pointed his thumb at the bed behind him.  
"Yes," Romy said quickly to avoid embarrassing words.  
Oh, Great Mother...  
They climbed into bed and almost automatically Sam grabbed the thick blankets. Despite the fire, the air was cool on the bare skin and Romy trembled - for whatever reason. Hesitantly she reached out her hand to him and he flinched under her ice-cold touch.  
"You are warm," she noticed, he nodded and made an inviting gesture. It wasn't as if she'd never snuggled up to him before. Only this time it was naked skin to naked skin, which was basically a nice feeling, only Sam didn't really have the desire to do what the moment demanded of him.

"Sam?" she asked after a while as her trembling faded.  
"Hmm?"  
"Shouldn't you... _do_ something?"  
His cheeks began to burn. "I'm trying to calm down."  
"Oh. I thought... I thought rather the opposite...?"  
"I'm a _little_ bit nervous..."  
"Oh..."

_Romy's pretty. You know her. If father had put a bride in front of your nose, it would have to work as well._

"May I kiss you?" he asked quietly.  
"Anything you want..." she mumbled embarrassedly. Gently he shook his head and looked at her.  
"I don't want to hurt you."  
"But you probably will."  
"Probably, yes. But you have to tell me. This is nothing one-sided."  
"I know," she whispered and nervously stroked a strand from her forehead. "I know." She put her hand back to his ribs and nodded. "Okay..."  
He leaned on an elbow and put a hand on her cheek. With big eyes she looked at him and then he slowly bent over to kiss her. She returned the kiss carefully, shyly, but unlike the kiss in the ballroom this time they had all the time in the world and slowly her hand glided over his skin, his shoulder, his neck to his hair, loosened the hair band and played with a strand. He relaxed a little, pulled her tighter and caressed her skin.  
And then she surprised him by turning her face to the side while gently pushing his head in the other direction. So he kissed her jawline, her neck and raised his hand to her chest. As he stroked his thumb over her nipple, she made a surprised sound and as he gently pinched it, her whole body twitched and she sighed suppressed.  
She liked it.  
His body finally reacted with appropriate enthusiasm and he overcame his own shyness, kissed down her neck, collarbone and further down, held her by the hip and finally let the tongue circle around her nipple. She sighed again and gasped as he gently sucked on it. Her body twitched and she snuggled up to him as she buried her hand in his hair, forcing him to caress one breast first and then the other. He kissed the soft skin between the breasts, kissed the breastbone up, her throat and finally her mouth again.  
Silently he thanked Franz and Owen for their kissing lessons as Romy opened her mouth and their tongues danced.  
Damn, not only did she _smell_ of vanilla and winter spice, she also _tasted_ of them, and now Sam also slipped a throaty sigh. He pushed his knee between her legs, which she willingly spread for him, and then he was over her and paused.  
His heart pounded violently up to his throat and he pressed his forehead against hers. He wanted to say something, anything, but Romy let her fingertips slide across his chest, his stomach, down, where his pubic hair should have been. When she touched him, grabbed him, he flinched, but she guided him- his tip pressed against hot flesh, against hot wet flesh, and slid a bit into her.  
They both gasped. Scared? Overwhelmed?  
Sam had only a vague idea of what he was doing, maybe he was guided by his instincts, but with small gentle thrusts he entered her, she tilted her pelvis and then it didn't go on. He breathed heavily, although he hadn't done anything yet, and half suffocated when Romy pulled him down for a kiss.  
This was _her_ night and his job was simple, so he watched her, listened to her soft noises and tried to keep his composure. Which admittedly became more and more difficult, especially as she very obviously approached her climax. And then suddenly everything happened at the same time. She arched her back, gave a choked outcry, drilled her fingernails into his lower back and became so tight around him that he came himself, unaware of how close he had already been.

"Sam?"  
"Hmm?" Her carotid was throbbing on his cheek.  
"You're heavy."  
"Sorry." He laboriously rolled to the side and dropped next to her, immediately she snuggled up to him and laid her head on his shoulder. Well, at least he had satisfied her...  
Drowsily he leaned his cheek against her head and sighed comfortably.   
"It was amazing..." she murmured and painted patterns on his chest.  
"It was?"  
"Hmm-hmm..."  
It really had been amazing and so he did "hmm-hmm" as well. Her confirmation felt good.  
And then he laughed quietly as all the fears and worries about the ritual fell from him. The maiden night of a witch... so simple, so... unspectacular.  
"We're not finished yet," Romy said quietly after a moment and sat up.  
"What?" Irritated, he blinked at her.  
"I mean... actually we are." She blushed and seemed to swallow more words.  
"Dragon," she finally said. "The dragon part is missing."  
"Oh... right." Sam made a face. The bed was nice and warm and he was tired and he didn't want to be a dragon.  
"It doesn't take long, really. You just have to...", she slipped out of bed, "drink the potion here and then stand in the pentagram." She reached for a goblet standing on the mantelpiece and handed it to Sam. With a suppressed sigh, he grabbed it and drank. Sharp and bitter at the same time, it burned in his throat and he coughed violently.  
"Come."  
"But..." he cleared his throat, "but I'm already sitting in a pentagram."  
She shook her head. "Outside. The pentagrams here are all for a specific purpose."  
He made a face. "But it's freezing cold outside and I'm sweaty and..." Under her gaze, he broke off. "Okay."

To the side of the terrace there was another pentagram and freezing he stood in it, while Romy stood on the terrace and worked her magic from there. On a warm summer night it would have been much more pleasant...  
Suddenly it began to burn in his stomach and he bent over, more in surprise than in pain. He laboriously lifted his head, for he had to wait for Romy's signal and see- she nodded to him noticeably.  
"Hurog," he said and the world exploded.

He sat on his butt, his legs in an impossible and yet comfortable angle. His arms... he opened his eyes and rumbled as he looked down at himself. In the soft witch light his scales shimmered in warm gold and yellow tones, the underside of his long neck and his belly faded to a light cream. He still couldn't decide whether his arms were the front legs of his dragon shape or the wings that were unfamiliar and unbelievably folded on his back. And he was huge. When he straightened up, he was certainly two stories high.  
Romy made a soft sound and he looked down, where she looked up at him in complete awe. Carefully, because he was not familiar with the strangely long limbs, he lowered his head.  
"Oh Great Mother and all Her aspects," Romy whispered and raised a trembling hand. Slowly and reverently she stroked his nostrils- an extremely strange feeling.  
"The scales are so soft... oh... Sam... Sam, you're so beautiful..."  
He could have effortlessly bitten off her entire arm at once, but a part of him, somewhere deep in his chest, recognized this petite little human woman in front of him as his witch, his companion, and he rubbed the big head against her tiny hand.  
"Sam?"  
He opened his mouth and coughed suffocated. All the dragons he had met so far had been able to speak, but it felt as if he was choking in an attempt to form the simplest words. He coughed again, choking - and spitting fire.  
"Ah!" Screaming, Romy retreated and he hastily pulled his head aside. "Oh Great Mother Earth!"  
Had he hurt her?  
"Oh wow! Sam, this is insane! That's... unbelievable!"  
It was, but Sam didn't feel very comfortable. He was too overwhelmed, exhausted and... and just done with himself and his world. He felt incredibly stolid and clumsy and there were muscles he didn't have as a human and didn't know how to use them and _damn it_ he spit fire!  
Vigorously he thought of his human form, his hair sharing the color with his scales, his wingless back but nothing happened.

Romy stared at him with fascination as his anxiety grew into panic because he didn't know how to turn back and couldn't even communicate with her. Unintentionally and uncontrollably, he spread his wings and fought with himself to put them back on again, while hot smoke was pouring out of his nostrils.  
"Sam!"  
His tail whipped through some bushes.  
"Sam! Look at me!"  
His claws screeched across the stone.  
"Samson!"  
Strained, he focused on Romy.  
"Sam, you're a prince, a knight. Think about what you can do as a human being. How you fight. How you write. How you kiss." She said more, but her words disappeared in a loud roar when he saw himself fighting a dragon. That helped and a moment later his bare feet stumbled over the cold stone. Panting, he found his balance again and was almost knocked over by Romy as she stormily embraced him. He had no idea what she was saying because every third word was witch language and every second word was swallowed by sobs of relief.  
"It's over," Sam noted and gently patted her back. "You did it. You're a big nasty witch now."  
"Oh, shut up, you stupid dragon knight." She leaned back and wiped her cheek, but it was tears of joy because she beamed all over her face.  
And then kissed him stormily. Gently, but firmly, he detached himself from her and smiled weakly.  
"I think we both need a little sleep, no?”

Sam had already fallen half asleep when Romy wriggled out of his arms and now held him in her turn. She played with his hair, painted patterns on his skin and kissed him tenderly on the temple.  
"Hurog keh. Meravaz hurog-zar keh..." she muttered and repeated the words again and again as she caressed his hair.  
The dragon fire was burning in his throat, the feeling of the hidden wings on his back tingling, and then he understood her words even though she spoke witch language.  
_"My dragon. My beautiful dragon prince..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Prince Samson, Brad Pitt, Katie Holmes and everyone, who shares this special day with me!


	26. One ring to rule them all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has to face the consequences of the ritual.

When Sam woke up, he was alone in the big bed. The strangest night of his life lay behind him and he laughed quietly and incredulously as he recapitulated the events. He felt strange, relaxed and exhausted at the same time, freed from his fears, spiritually refreshed and yet... yet something gnawed at him that he could not grasp.   
Thoughtfully, he slipped out of bed and shivered in the cool air. Where he had previously taken off his clothes, there were now fresh things ready for him, made of heavy fabrics, decorated and truly worthy of a prince, but when he saw boots and vest made of dragon leather next to it, a strange lump formed in his stomach. Hesitantly he stroked the blue-grey scales and shivered. The image of his own scaly body rose in front of him, the feeling when Romy had touched the scales... Uncertain, he looked around and discovered two doors he hadn't noticed before. One of them was only slightly open, the other one was open enough to recognize the bathroom behind it and certain bodily functions were immediately triggered...

Relieved and fully dressed as a precaution, Sam stepped through the second door a little later and was only a little surprised to find a small cosy dining room where the fireplace was cheerfully burning. Romy was sitting at the table, wrapped in a dark red dressing gown, a tea cup in her hand, smiling at him gently.   
"Good morning."   
"Good morning," he answered and smiled back. The smell of fresh rolls tickled his nose, smoked ham shone appetisingly and in general the table was filled with a grandiose breakfast. He walked around the table and already had one hand on the back of the chair to pull the chair back when he stopped.   
On his plate was a golden ring.   
Irritated, he blinked and squinted at Romy- on her left hand, with which she held the tea cup, a golden ring shimmered.   
"No."   
"Hmm?" she asked.   
"No." His stomach felt like a big hole, but not from hunger.   
"What, _no_?" Romy asked with a frown.   
"I won't marry you," he said.   
"The question isn't even open for debate, Sam. We're already married," she replied in earnest.   
"No. That's not true." His fingers cramped around the back of the chair while he shook his head.   
"Yes, it is."   
"No! There was no priest, no witnesses, no vows. I didn't... I'm not..." For a moment he lost his breath. "We are _not_ married!" His voice became loud and got a shrill undertone. "This damn ritual-"   
"Sam!" Romy interrupted him, an angry look on her face. "Sit down and eat and we-"   
"There is no _we_ here!" He took his fingers off the chair and headed for the door to his left, which, following logic, had to lead into the corridor.   
"Where are you going?" she wanted to know, he could hear her chair scraping as she got up.   
"Back to Whitehill. Back where I belong." He ripped open the door.   
"Sam!"   
He had never been in this part of the castle before, but he would find his way somehow.   
"Samson, wait!"   
He slammed the door behind him.

It took him a while to find his way back to the part he knew, but then he stormed up to Romy's rooms and hurriedly began to gather his belongings. In a chest were the things Romy had taken from him on his arrival, and he searched with flicking fingers for his signet ring, which identified him as Crown Prince.   
"What do you think you're doing?" Jonas' words made him jump.   
"I'm leaving," he growled.   
"I doubt it." Magic enveloped him, tugged at him, and because he wasn't wearing his own magic necklace - it was lying on the dresser right in front of him, but out of reach for the moment - he couldn't defend himself as Jonas dragged him into the main room. As Sam sat at the table, the magic glued him to the chair.   
"I will not allow you to hurt Romy. As long as you remain within these walls..." the old man gasped for air, "you will obey."   
"And that's why I want to go!" Sam hissed. "I have no one to obey here!" Rage rose up in him. Anger that had been magically suppressed since his arrival. All the feelings and thoughts the bond had suppressed rushed onto him and almost suffocated him. Anger, fear, anxiety. The thought of his home. What had they really done to him? What had he done to himself by volunteering to work with Romy?   
"I don't obey anyone here!" The rage swallowed him up. "I respect your queen for all I care, but I obey no one, least of all a servant!"   
"How dare you..." Jonas turned as red as the rubies on his neck, trembling and looking quite intimidating to Sam who was forced to sit still. "You killed my niece's husband and married my grandniece, you are in the company of several trained witches and you dare-"   
"That's enough, Jonas. Please leave now." Romy's cold tone of voice immediately cut him off and Sam blinked at her in surprise. Great-niece? Jonas was related to Romy? The question was probably written all over his face, because when the door closed behind Jonas, Romy said softly:   
"Jonas' brother Jonathan was my grandmother's ritual knight and my grandfather. But that doesn't matter now." She gave Sam a weird look - disappointed, maybe? - and went into the bedroom, the magic released Sam.   
The confusion temporarily dampened his anger, but not enough to just let that rest on him. He heard Romy rumbling in the dressing room and went to her - not because he really wanted to talk, but because he really just wanted to pack his bags and leave.

Surprisingly, it was Romy who was packing.   
"What are you doing?"   
"Packing."   
"This is not my stuff."   
"I'll go with you, of course."   
"No, you don't."   
At his dismissive words, she straightened up, dropped her trousers she was holding and looked at him as emotionlessly as she did back in the dungeon.   
"I promised you we would go to Whitehill together."   
"I don't want you to come." He sounded like a stubborn child.   
"What do you think will happen if you leave me here, Samson?" she asked coldly and when he didn't answer right away she shook her head slightly. "Without a knight, I am nothing to Jocelyn and a nuisance to Ellie. Maybe she even takes her time to kill me until after her own ritual. All she has to do is wait until my next moontime."   
"Why don't you just leave? Wherever?"   
Her cold mask cracked in rage. "Didn't you listen to a single word I said when I explained the nature of witches? Witches are earthbound! We can't just leave our home. As a healing witch all the more. I can travel, sure, but only for a few days without my magic suffering. You are my ritual knight, my spouse. I can make your home my home. A place entirely free of witches' magic will do me good and flourish with my healing magic."   
"I'm not your spouse." He almost spat the words at her feet and she straightened up to full height.   
"Fine. Be free to marry whomever you want according to your own laws as long as you take me with you. If you insist on leaving me behind, you will sign my death warrant and then I will require you to do it yourself."   
"Excuse me?" Irritated, he winked at her.   
"If you leave me here, my sisters will kill me, Samson, and waiting for death is not something I really desire. Do it yourself, right here, right now." She made a very welcoming gesture. "I can cast a spell to make it less obvious, so you can disappear in peace."   
"You're crazy."   
"I will not fight back." Quietly she looked at him, her bright eyes gazed completely serious.   
"I can't just kill you..." Her determination shook his anger. "I... I can't..."   
"Then take me with you." A plea crept into her voice and he turned his eyes away.

~

The horses scuffled their hooves, a nervous restlessness lay in the air. Alvin and five other knights of the Queen's Guard would accompany them to Feather Springs and then return to Balius. Sam stood beside Hector and waited, Ylra's reins in his hand, for there was no one he wanted to say goodbye to. Owen and Franz had not yet returned from the manor and Erik was tied to bed with a bad cold. Jocelyn and Ruby talked to Romy and then Isaac approached Sam, his expression completely disturbed.   
"Sam... Sam, why are we going to Whitehill? Alvin said I would stay there..."   
Sam looked at him in amazement. "Whitehill is our home, Isaac."   
"But you married a Princess of Darkmoore. Balius is our home now. If you don't want to live in the castle, then-"   
"Isaac," Sam interrupted him as gently as his own confusion allowed, "I am the Crown Prince of Whitehill. I cannot stay here."   
Isaac blinked mutely a few times, then lowered his eyes. "Sorry."   
"You don't have to..." Sam broke off when Isaac just turned away and left. Unhappily he grimaced and watched Isaac go to the other end of the group and talk to one of the knights. Then Sam's eyes were drawn to the witches as Jocelyn handed Romy a small dark bag and Ruby put a necklace around her neck. Romy nodded, took a few steps backwards and then literally rushed to Sam's side. Wordlessly, she tied the bag to Ylra's saddle and then took off the reins from Sam.   
"Mount!" Alvin shouted, and Sam obeyed the command. The terribly pale Romy remained standing and led Ylra on the reins to the castle gate. There she hesitated for a moment before she stepped over the threshold and a few steps further on, and finally swung herself on horseback.   
She never looked back once.

~

"Isaac doesn't look good."   
"No," Sam replied curtly. He gritted his teeth and finally said: "He has forgotten what I am."   
"What exactly do you mean?" Romy sounded worried enough that he gave her a quick glance.   
"He wanted to know why we were going to Whitehill. He no longer knew that I was the Crown Prince."   
For a moment her eyebrows disappeared under her cap, then she shook her head. "Mother exaggerated. I'm honestly not sure which drugs she used, but she exaggerated."   
"Is he gonna be okay?"   
"If he survives the withdrawal... maybe."   
Sam looked at her in bewilderment. Hector and Ylra trotted peacefully side by side in the slowly setting twilight.   
"When he accompanied me, Mother gave him a magical amulet, but now he is completely cut off from her. I can help him, but he was exposed to this mixture for almost nine months..."   
"You're not even sure if he's going to _survive_?" Sam finally brought up in disbelief. Romy made an unhappy face.   
"The drugs had broken him down to a certain level of understanding of the situation and changed his attitude. Squire, knight, bride, princess. Superstition? Wiped away. If his mind fails in its attempt to process the truth, his body will simply give up." She hesitated for a moment and then said quietly: "I can't promise you anything, but I'll do my best."   
Sam nodded silently.

The next day at lunchtime Isaac began to show withdrawal symptoms. For Sam it was a matter of principle not to leave Isaac's side because he knew the experience. But Romy also stayed by her second knight's side.   
When Isaac's body had won the fight after three days he fell into a kind of twilight state but Romy blessed it.   
"Now his mind must heal. And that may take a long time."   
"How long?"   
She shrugged. "Weeks, best case scenario. Years, if it takes long. And in the worst case, it will eventually break."   
That didn't put Sam's mind at ease but he was already relieved that Isaac had the _chance_ to recover mentally. He prayed fervently to the Great Mother that his former squire would become again the young man he had been a year ago.

~

"Your Highness."   
Sam looked up and frowned as Alvin half bowed to him in the saddle. The other knights had cleared the road and a strange feeling spread through Sam when he saw the end of the forest. He rode on, and when Hector stepped into the weak winter sun, he was left breathless.   
Over there was Feather Springs and behind it the Royal Castle rose up on a hill.   
It was almost exactly five years ago that he had left home and now the sight was overwhelming.   
Finally he licked his cold lips and cleared his throat. "Hoist the banners."   
"Very well, Your Highness." Immediately Isaac and another knight, Daniel, started to assemble the stands while Sam laboriously pulled a small bag from an inside pocket of his thick coat and dropped his signet ring onto his hand. The ring was designed to be worn over gloves, so he slid the ring onto his right middle finger; the gold made the blue-grey of the dragon scales look dirty.   
A gentle breeze made the banners swing and Romy used magic to smooth the folds of the heavy fabric. The white blossom and the "burning" tree side by side seemed strangely contrasting and elicited an almost amused snort from Sam.   
Which half got stuck in his throat when a completely different realization came to him.   
_"...and don't come back until you found yourself a bride."_   
"Oh, fuck..."   
Everyone else looked at him questioningly.   
"Fuck!"   
"Your Highness?" Alvin dared to ask but Sam refused to answer.   
A bride... He glanced at Romy, who glanced back unmoved. The laws of marriage were perhaps a little different in Whitehill and Darkmoore, but this ritual marriage would still be recognized at least as an official engagement, and then he couldn't avoid a Whitehill-typical pompous wedding ceremony. Or he recognized the marriage himself and declared it legally binding.   
Either way, if he wanted to go home, he would have to bind himself to Romy in some way. And that damn witch had fucking known that when she offered to set him free!   
Sam pressed his lips together and turned to Romy when she offered him something. It was a little velvet pouch and what it contained, Sam could guess. A silent consent or a nationwide celebration? Silently, he took off his left glove and picked up the pouch from Romy, from which he fished the wedding ring. With angry resignation, he put it on his left ring finger and put the glove back on.  
_"Not all slave rings are black and hang on the balls. Every man who marries becomes a slave with a golden collar. The husband of a witch all the more."  
_Romy gave a sign and the group started moving.   
Sam had completed his task, brought home a wife, and would be confirmed as heir to Whitehill by the king and the crown council.   
And yet he felt as if he had lost a war.


	27. A home is more than just the place where you live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romy meets Sam's family...

At the city gates they were received by an honor guard consisting of twelve knights and six squires, led by commander Howard.  
"Your Highness," said the aforementioned commander with a serious nod. "It's good to have you back in the city."  
"It's good to be back," Sam answered and nodded back politely. Howard was about the same age as Gerald, but in recent years he'd turned almost completely grey, which made him look incredibly old.  
"Your Highness." Now Howard saluted to Romy.  
"Commander."  
The two groups blended into each other and entered the city through the east gate. As they rode slowly, almost leisurely, through the streets, one of the squires at the head of the group kept shouting, "Make way for Prince Samson and Princess Romy," Sam surveyed the knights.  
There was Nathaniel, Howard's son, who had gone through training with Sam and was the only one present with a bow hanging from his saddle.  
There was Garrett, always grumpy and bad-tempered, who had been a personal guard of Sylvia in the years before Sam's departure and who, despite his young age, had already turned grey at the temples.  
There was Oliver, one year older than Sam, who still looked as if he hadn't lost the baby fat, and rode high up on Romy's right side.  
And on Sam's left side rode Alistair, three years older than Sam and a good friend during his training. When he noticed Sam's gaze, he grinned, but held his face rigidly straight ahead.  
"It's good to see you again," he said softly.  
"You too. Who put this company together?"  
"Your father himself, my prince." Now Alistair gave Sam a quick glance, who was full of mischief. "Howard's sworn a lot."  
"Why?"  
"Oh, because Garrett tries to wring my neck at every turn? Or because Oliver keeps bruising me?"  
"You deserve both." Oliver spoke up soberly.  
"What have you done?" Sam wanted to know amused.  
"Oh, well..." Alistair rolled his shoulders. "I've proposed to Marian."  
"You did _what_?" Marian was Garrett's younger sister, a sorceress, and extremely popular.  
"She said _yes_," Alistair said gleefully. That probably explained Garrett's distaste for Alistair.  
"And what about Oliver?"  
"She asked me to keep an eye on him," Oliver dryly explained.  
"That's nothing new." Alistair waved off, because in fact Oliver had always been the only one who could dampen Alistair's sense of pranks and stupidity.  
"But hey, congratulations."  
Alistair grinned and despite the helmet Sam could see that he was blushing. "I'll be glad to return these. At least now you come back a married man. Which means I won't have to cool my heels at your pompous wedding."  
"Would they have let you in the cathedral at all?" Sam asked mockingly and Alistair laughed softly.  
"I suppose not."  
"Why shouldn't they let an anointed knight into a cathedral?" Romy asked in between, irritated. While Sam and Alistair exchanged a glance, Oliver said:  
"You must know, Your Highness, that a squire here in Whitehill has to serve a year of church service. Alistair was assigned to the cathedral and wreaked havoc at his first midnight mass."  
"Not true ... ", Alistair protested promptly.  
"Which is?" Romy curiously asked. Oliver sighed.  
"He fell asleep standing up and poured the communion wine over the altar. The High Priestess was far from pleased."  
Sam smiled. He hadn't been a squire back then, but everyone knew the story, among other things because: "The altar cloth is still subtly pink."  
"Oh.", Romy made surprised. Alistair shrugged.  
"I was only fifteen."  
"You're still a clumsy one at nearly thirty," Nathaniel intervened at that moment, riding behind Alistair.  
"Hey, quiet back there!"  
Sam laughed softly and fell silent as they turned a corner.  
At the end of the wide street was the large gate that guarded the entrance to the narrow bridge that led across the river back to the castle.

Commander Howard and his squire rode in front, behind them Isaac and Daniel with the standards, then Sam and Romy followed and behind them first the Darkmoore knights with the packhorses in tow, then the honor guard. On the other side of the bridge the big gate was raised, then the second and they rode to the big castle forecourt. Vaguely Sam noticed the knights fanning out behind him, but his gaze was more attached to the figures standing at the top in front of the great castle portal.  
He had gone over in his mind so many times what he wanted to say and do when he faced his father, but his mind was as empty as a blank. Nevertheless, he dismounted, let Hector's reins hang carelessly, and climbed up the fan-like stairs of the castle.  
Gerald's temples turned gray and he had grown a beard, which was also streaked with gray, but it made him look even more charismatic than Sam remembered.  
Sylvia next to him had grown really old. You couldn't really tell from her light blonde hair, but her face had a lot more wrinkles and her already chubby figure had increased.  
Next to Sylvia stood surprisingly Ginevra and a young man, but Sam reached the last stair, took a few more steps and then stood in front of his father.  
"Father." He nearly choked on the one word.  
"My son." Gerald smiled warmly and raised his hands invitingly. "Welcome back." Sam swallowed hard and fought down an overly emotional reaction.  
"I missed you, Dad."  
"We missed you too, Sam." And then it was Gerald who stepped forward and gave him a short hug. Fortunately the hug was really short, because otherwise Sam would have burst into tears. Instead, he turned to his mother. Her smile seemed pinched and the memory of her letter dampened Sam's joy of seeing her again so much that he bent over and gave her only a simple kiss on the cheek.  
"Mum."  
"Sam." Her disappointment was obvious when he turned directly to Ginevra.  
"Little wildcat!"  
"Sir Silly." She grinned broadly and threw herself into his arms.  
"Great Mother, I missed you!" he muttered into the fur-trimmed collar of her coat. "And I'm so sorry I couldn't be at your wedding."  
She patted his back. "It's okay. I wasn't at yours."  
"You haven't missed a thing."  
"Neither did you." They let go of each other and she nodded to the side. Sam now turned to the young man and only now realized that it was not Gordon but Gavin.  
"Prince Gavin."  
"Prince Samson." Gavin smiled embarrassed - the last time they had met, Gavin had been more of a child than a teenager.  
"Ginny, is he a good man?"  
"Yes, Sam," she said with a sigh.  
"Is he treating you well?"  
"Sam..."  
"Can you be happy by his side?"  
"Sam, please."  
"Yes or no?"  
"Yes, Sir Silly, now stop asking silly questions. I've managed quite well without a big brother these last few years."  
He gave her a critical look, which she answered with a roll of her eyes, and then turned to Gavin, who looked a little uneasy.  
"I trust both Ginevra and Owen's judgment, so..." Sam held out his hand to Gavin, who hesitantly took hold of it. "I am happy to call you brother."  
"Oh. I appreciate that." Gavin said in surprise. "But you... know Owen?"  
"He sends greetings."  
As a result, Gavin was left without words. From the look on Ginevra's face, Sam knew she knew about Owen, he gave her a smile, and then turned back to his father, who seemed extremely amused.  
"Where's Gordon?"  
"On duty." Gerald smiled and nodded towards the forecourt. Sam turned and looked surprised as Howard's squire raised his hand in greeting. The skinny eleven-year-old had turned into a stocky sixteen-year-old whom Sam almost didn't recognize. He hopped down the stairs and went over to Gordon.  
"Hey, little brother."  
"Hello, Sam," Gordon said shyly. He was the only one of the four royal children who looked exactly like Queen Sylvia.  
"Are you really _Howard's_ squire?" Sam wanted to know curiously and Gordon nodded hurriedly. "Congratulations."  
"Thank you." He hesitated and then tried semi-successfully on a cheeky grin. "Now that you're back, I need some perspective."  
"Royal Commander?" Sam raised his eyebrows.  
"Hey, everybody can't be king."  
"Well, _I_ was born for this job." Sam grinned and Gordon stuck out his tongue.  
"Show-off."  
Sam then fuzzled through his hair and promptly received a protesting slap on the upper arm.  
"Take care of your princess, I'm on duty."

Said princess Sam had almost forgotten, but Romy stood watching between Hector and Ylra and looked at Sam questioningly when he came to her. Unless it was about Isaac or urgent matters, they had not spoken a word during the two-week journey, and so he hesitated.  
"Your family is waiting," she said softly.  
"I know." He licked his lips and held out his hand to her, which she grabbed in a courteous manner. "They think we married for love... Are you going to keep up this charade?" he wanted to know. For a moment she pressed her lips together, then she replied neutrally:  
"I doubt whether they could take the truth."  
"No, I guess not." As if he had to whisper courage to his shy wife, he leaned his forehead against hers. "I'm still angry, just so you know," he whispered.  
"I'm aware of it," she whispered back.  
"Good."  
And then he led her upstairs to his parents, watching Sylvia's smile freeze first and then fall completely off her face as she examined Romy.  
"Father, this is Romy, my wife." Sam was proud of himself that he didn't stumble over his own tongue and even managed to smile. Romy hinted at a curtsy, which looked rather silly in the heavy travel clothes.  
"Romy Blackwood-Appleberry, Princess of Darkmoore, Your Majesty. I am delighted to meet you."  
Gerald's smile was a little strange, then he nodded majestically at her. "I'd like to welcome you as my daughter, but I'm not sure your matriarchal structures will allow it."  
Stunned, Romy looked at him, then shrugged. "I don't know, but if you want to be a father to me, I'd like that."  
Sam found her tone of voice a little rude, but to his surprise, a shy smile appeared on her face and she added:  
"According to Sam's tales, you are a man one could only wish for as a father."  
Now it was up to Gerald to look stunned, then he laughed heartily. "Well, every man wishes for pretty daughters, don't he?" He laid a hand on Romy's, who in turn was still in Sam's hand - thus he gave them his personal blessing as a father - and nodded to Sam hardly noticeably. He forced himself to an embarrassed smile and then turned to Sylvia.  
"Mother."  
"Welcome home, Romy," Sylvia said stiffly and Romy squeezed Sam's hand.  
"I thank you," she answered no less stiffly and looked down at the little queen. Apparently Romy hadn't forgotten Sylvia's letters either and Sam pushed her straight on to Ginevra and Gavin as a precaution.  
"Ginevra and Prince Gavin of Threehills."  
"Princess Romy." Gavin nodded to her and she nodded back.  
"It's good to finally get the chance of making friends with the neighbours.", Romy said and sounded not like herself at all to Sam. Then she turned to Ginevra.  
"I'm looking forward to hear your side of the stories Sam told me," she said, a cautious smile playing around her lips.  
"Sam probably told a lot of nonsense," said Ginevra with a skeptical side glance, which Sam answered with an eye roll.  
"No, not really." Romy shook her head and lowered her hand so that she could hold on to Sam better. "His stories were full of affection."  
"Oh. Well, he's a good big brother, I'll give him that." Ginevra overplayed her surprise well and then grinned broadly. "I hope he didn't mess up too bad?"  
"Ginny!" Sam protested, while Romy blushed to the roots of her hair. Ginevra waved off.  
"Oh, come on, I didn't mean it like that! Is there a romantic behind this tin can?"  
"Ginevra!", now Sylvia also interfered. Sam's cheeks were now glowing, too.  
"Oh please, who is talking about the wedding night? He courted her! So: romantic? With a serenade? Walks by moonlight?"  
"Ginny, can we go inside, please? I'm getting cold," Gavin interrupted her flood of questions.  
"You of all people?" she asked back and Gavin looked at her pleadingly, seeming like a little puppy - and succeeded.

~

"Did I embarrass myself?"  
"No. Frankly, you really surprised me."  
Romy gave a sigh of relief. "I've thought about what to say for a really long time."  
"It worked." Sam got a wry look from the side but didn't answer any further, instead let go of her hand and stopped a few steps later. Outside the door to his apartment stood two guards, who saluted quickly.  
"Welcome home, Your Highnesses," said one of them through the closed helmet. Sam nodded at them and opened the door.  
A strange feeling flooded through him, relief and melancholy, he was at home and somehow not. Almost unconsciously, he compared his main room with Romy's and realized that his was by no means small, as he had thought at first. Romy's rooms were simply exorbitantly large due to the huge Blackwood castle, which was rebuilt and extended in every generation - after all, there was enough space.

The furniture had been rearranged a little to accommodate a second desk and to allow access to a door that had previously been hidden by a curtain. Romy gently took Sam's hand from the door handle, pushed him a little further and then closed the door. This tore him away from his thoughts a little and he looked at her.  
Outside, she had just seemed shy, now she seemed insecure. He was aware that he could have been much worse off with regard to a wife and a small part was quite happy that he knew her well by now and would therefore get along with her even in the home of his childhood.  
If the feeling of anger and disappointment and betrayal would eventually subside.  
"Welcome to your new home," he said softly. His words sounded strangely hollow.  
"I thought these were your rooms," she also said softly and he shook his head.  
"Ours. So yes, they're basically mine, but for now we'll share them." Then he pointed to the door on the right. "The door leads to your rooms, but it's locked at the moment. In about ten weeks' time, it will open." Romy raised an eyebrow and Sam shrugged. "It's a tradition. Those with money have separate bedrooms and usually an arranged marriage. To maximize the odds, the couple spends the first three months in common rooms."  
"Sounds... interesting."  
Again he shrugged. "Most people know their future spouse only briefly, if at all. If you're forced to spend time together, you get to know each other at least a little."  
She nodded and then pointed to the two pots that were standing on the table on warmers. "Will you show me my new home before or after tea?"  
"How about both?" he asked back and she nodded. "The balcony's big enough to sit on in the summer," he started immediately, pointing to a big door next to his desk. "Downstairs is the garden and the sunsets are really beautiful." He went to the door on the left side and entered the corridor behind it, opening the door on the left and right.  
"The bathroom and the dressing room. Ah, they've already put up a screen." He went on to the bedroom and paused. The bed of his childhood had already not been small, but the new marriage bed was damn big. The bed curtains were made of airy cloth in a light appleberry green, and Romy stroked them with her fingers as she went to the balcony door that was next to her side of the bed.  
"The garden is really beautiful. It's a pity there's no stairway down," she said after a moment.  
"Security risk," Sam replied with a sigh. He had regretted that point ever since he was a little boy. She nodded understandingly and a small sad smile flitted across her face as she looked at him.  
"Tea?" he asked uneasily and she nodded again.

Romy poured tea into a cup and Sam reached for the second pot - just as he had thought, there was coffee in it.  
"What is _that?_" Romy asked irritated, as he poured the dark liquid into his cup.  
"Coffee."  
"Coffee?"  
"An invigorating hot drink made from roasted and crushed coffee beans that grow on the coffee bush," Sam explained in his teaching voice and generously added milk from a pot.  
"Never heard of it," Romy admitted.  
"The bush is originally from the Empire, but feels quite at home in the southwest of Sunplains. Franz would now lynch me for violating cultural heritage," he added amusedly and stirred a little honey into the coffee.  
"How come?" She took the honeypot from his hand and put a stain in her tea.  
"Most people drink this stuff with just a little bit of milk in the morning to wake them up."  
"Ah... may I taste it?"  
"Sure." He handed her the cup and smiled as she pulled a face.  
"Yuck, that's bitter."  
"Says the one who likes these hyacinths?"  
She didn't say anything about it, so they kept quiet for a while.

Apparently a very long while, because after a minimal knock the door opened and Cordelia, Sylvia's first maid, entered. After a deep curtsy, she said:  
"Her Majesty sent me to inform you that your presence is requested at dinner in one hour."  
So far Sam was informed, so he nodded.  
"And to offer my assistance to Her Highness."  
Romy frowned. "I can dress myself."  
"As Her Highness desires." Cordelia curtsied again and left.  
"Why does your mother send her maid to me?" Romy asked irritated, and poured herself the last of the tea.  
"Probably because normally a princess would have brought at least one maid with her." Sam shrugged. "In other words, everyone else is irritated because you didn't bring half your household effects."  
"Should I have done that?" She raised her eyebrows in amazement.  
"You can still send for, can't you?"  
"Probably..."

~

Sylvia broke off in mid-speech when she noticed Sam and Romy. Romy's blood-red shirt had a high collar that accentuated her long neck, the black and silver corset snuggled up to her slim figure, and the black pants in her high boots made her legs look even longer than they already were. She was undoubtedly a beautiful woman, and Sam responded to his mother's horrified stare with cool condescension - one of his father's advices had been: _once you're married, put your wife above your mother, otherwise you'll be the first to fall in the war that may come._ Gordon's eyes almost fell out of his head.  
"Are those _dragon_ scales?"   
The spell was broken.  
"Yes," Sam said simply, suppressing the urge to touch the vest. Romy, however, who held his hand, nestled herself against him.  
"From the dragon that Sam saved me from."  
"Woah!" Gordon was impressed. "You have to tell me about this!"  
"But not at the table, please," Gerald warned softly. "Dragons are an unpleasant thing."  
"Dead, they're quite formidable," Romy remarked, patting Sam's shoulder.  
"You know how I feel about that," he returned, hurriedly adding a "dear". At that moment, however, the door opened and a whole line of kitchen boys with bowls rushed in, followed by one of the chefs himself, carrying a large serving platter.  
"Take a seat," Gerald said invitingly, after everything had been put down. Since the order of precedence was not important at family dinners, Gordon sat at the head of the table, with Gerald and Sam to the left and right, next to Sylvia or Romy, and next to them Ginevra and Gavin. The chef lifted the bonnet over the large plate with verve and Sam sighed up devotedly - a crispy roast duck or something similar made his mouth water.

"You need to eat more, girl," Sylvia said critically after looking at Romy's plate opposite her. There the vegetables piled up: carrots, onions in red wine sauce, baked mashed potatoes in the shape of flowers and the sweet white roots, whose name Sam just couldn't remember.  
"I eat enough, thank you," Romy replied politely, and Sam dropped the fork with a piece of duck breast.  
"Romy doesn't eat meat, Mum."  
"But a little more on the ribs would do her good. How else can her body carry a healthy child?"  
From Ginevra's eye rolling, Sam could tell that this topic was probably raised more often at the table, although Ginevra was really not too thin.  
"Your concern is kind, but unnecessary," he said, once again echoing Gerald's advice through his head.  
"Meat is healthy," Sylvia insisted and Romy shook her head gently.  
"Not for a witch."  
"Why not?" Ginevra wanted to know and sipped her wine cup with questioningly raised eyebrows.  
"Meat comes from murdered creatures. The violence that clings to it can corrupt my magic. And believe me, you don't want to be around when a witch's magic runs amok."  
"Oh." Gavin made ominous. "Then stick to your vegetables, I'm not gonna steal them from you."  
"Thank you." Romy nodded at him and Gavin smiled wryly.  
"How's your family?" Gerald then asked with genuine interest.  
"Fine, I guess... I mean..." It was obvious that Romy had no idea what to say to this.  
"Do you have nieces or nephews?" Ginevra asked curiously.  
"No. But I guess Jocelyn is working on it. Jocelyn is my older sister," she quickly added.  
"What about Lyandra? Isn't she married yet?"  
"Lyandra is dead."  
"Oh. My condolences." Gerald made a face.  
"Witches have a higher mortality rate," Sam muttered to his carrots, then got a rib kick from Romy. "Dear, you were once five sisters..."  
She looked at him in annoyance. "That's true, but..." She paused and bit her lip. After hesitating a moment, she looked up at Gerald. "We were six siblings, it's true. Both Lyandra, the oldest, and Theresa, the youngest, as well as my twin brother are no longer alive. Last spring, my father passed away."  
Now it was Sam who pulled a face, but Gerald looked sad.  
"I'm really sorry about that," he said sincerely. "Though Antonidas came from a small village, he was a very educated man. You look remarkably like him."  
"You knew my father?", Romy asked so surprised that she completely forgot to be embarrassed by the dubious compliment. Gerald simply nodded while Sylvia looked as if she wanted to empty the wine cup over her husband. Luckily Romy didn't ask any more questions and so Sam changed the topic in a hurry.  
"How's your training going?" he wanted to know from Gordon, who shrugged.  
"Okay, I guess. Howard's strict."  
"Gordon's really good with the bow," Gavin remarked from the side. From Owen, Sam knew that Gavin himself was an excellent archer.  
"You think so?" Gordon murmured sheepishly.  
"I'm serious," Gavin replied.  
"Maybe you'll be a bow-knight like Nathaniel," Sam said lightly, pushing the empty plate away.  
"I don't know... I'd rather be with swords."  
"And the other weapons? Lance? Dagger? Axe?"  
Gordon sighed deeply. "Daggers and I won't be friends."  
"No?"  
"No."  
"I know an expert..."  
Gordon looked at him crooked.  
"No, not me. Romy."  
"Romy?"  
"Me?"  
"A princess should-"  
Sam just blanked out Sylvia. "She could practice with you for a while. All you have to do is ask."  
"Who gives you the right to call me an expert?" Romy wanted to know before Gordon could open his mouth.  
"The fact that you're stabbing me nine times out of ten on our practice sessions?"  
Sylvia gasped for breath, Gerald raised an impressive eyebrow.  
"Woah..." Gordon said muted.  
"Good point," Romy remarked dryly.  
"Don't worry, Gordon, she's a healer witch, she won't even leave scars."  
"Unless you want some," she added in the same dry tone. Gordon seemed skeptical.  
"You never asked _me_ if I wanted a scar. Just to show off," Sam grumbled, Ginevra giggled in the background.  
"Maybe it's because I don't want to ruin the beautiful body of my beloved."  
Sam couldn't think of anything to say and so he closed his mouth.  
"None of my children will be stabbed", Sylvia explained coolly into the entering silence.  
"Knights are there to protect others, Mum, and as a result they die for others," Gordon said instructively. Sam nodded in agreement but Gerald shook his head.  
"What your mother wants to say-"  
"I know what Mum wants to say, thank you. But I'm not getting any better wrapped up in cotton wool."  
"That's the right attitude," Sam murmured to his little brother and nodded invitingly to the servants who were clearing the table.  
"How many dragons have you killed?"  
"No dragons at table!"  
"Seven." Sam simply overruled Gerald's objection.  
"See, Mum?" Gordon turned to Sylvia, who was as white as a sheet.  
"Seven dragons! Great Mother, Sam, how can you..."  
Sam shrugged while Gordon continued:  
"You don't get this good just by waving wooden swords."  
"So far, so good", Ginevra now interfered. "But do you really want to be stabbed by a girl who's a head taller than you?"  
Romy's comment "Said girl is of age" was drowned out by Gordon:  
"Said girl is a witch and has offered to heal me afterwards, which gives me the chance to learn from my mistakes."  
"Nobody's getting stabbed here," Sylvia shouted again in between and Sam began to smile while a heated discussion arose between Gordon, Ginevra and Romy, commented on by Gavin. He looked at his father, who shook his head amused and leaned back as servants brought the warm spiced wine and served cookies with it.

~

"I like your siblings," Romy remarked relaxed and undid the hooks of her corset.  
"I think they like you, too," Sam gave back and smiled.  
"Hmm. And your mother hates me."  
"There are worse things."  
"Oh, yeah?"  
Sam nodded at his reflection before pulling the shirt over his head. "_Everybody_ could hate you. You're a witch and most people outside of Darkmoore are scared of you."  
"Maybe, but if my mother had hated you-"  
"- you and I wouldn't be here." He looked at her as she sat on a chair and just pulled the boots off her feet. "You are different. You are beautiful. You are supposedly loved. That's reason enough."  
Romy winked at him. "None of this is my fault."  
"Of course not." Sam smiled weakly. "But on top of that, you are the daughter of the woman my father honestly courted. My mother was a purely political decision that spared us a war against Redriver."  
"She loves him, doesn't she?" Romy asked softly after a moment and Sam nodded.  
"I think so. At least the drama she put on when she found out about his mistress was huge. The result is Gordon."  
"It's common here to have mistresses?" Her tone of voice was almost disbelieving and Sam raised an eyebrow.  
"Do you seriously think your mother was content with a husband who was a dragon 95% of the time?"  
She blushed silently.  
"But no, it's not exactly usual. But there's nothing scandalous about it once the marriage has produced children." He shrugged and continued to undress.  
"Will you take one as soon as we have children?"  
"No."  
"How can you be so sure?"  
"I'm a knight, Romy, a real one." The fact that he was just about to get out of his underpants made the seriousness of the words a little suspicious, but he meant what he said.  
"I have taken several oaths of fidelity and loyalty and you are the first and only woman in my bed." He couldn't help but add: "If you had made a real marriage vow, you would know that."


	28. Noble titles usually come with obligations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First things first- Whitehill needs an heir.

"Aaah!"  
A scream, a muffled sound and a suffocated groan tore Sam from his sleep.  
"What the...?" He blinked into the twilight bathed scenery. "Romy, put the servant down!"  
"What is he doing here at this hour?" she hissed.  
"The curtains, Your Highness!" squealed the servant hastily. "We'll serve breakfast and draw the curtains back."  
"I can open the curtains myself when I'm awake. And not half an hour before!"  
"Romy!"  
She withdrew her magic, the servant sank to the ground and rallied hastily.  
"And I had hoped you wouldn't frighten the servants straight away," Sam murmured and slipped out of bed while the servant stumbled away.  
In the main room, a group of servants was just about to serve breakfast.  
"I'm only going to say this just once," Sam started and brushed his hair out of his face.  
All eyes turned to him.  
"Princess Romy and I will each choose _one_ personal servant, and apart from these two people, no one - _no one!_ \- will enter these rooms without prior request, even in our absence. Do we understand each other?"  
"Of course, Your Highness," it muttered, and Sam nodded.  
"Very well."  
With bows and soft apologies the servants retreated and as the door closed Sam sighed. With a shuffle Romy stepped next to him and held out a dressing gown to him, she herself also wore one - one of his - and oversized fur-lined slippers, which had come from who knows where.  
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't expect anyone to just walk in."  
"I am sorry," Sam returned and sat down at the table. "I should have warned either you or the servants. But on the other hand, I got so used to their absence, I forgot about them."  
"We do have quite a few servants," she said after she had also sat down. "But I have Jonas and... well, had." She made a face, wrapped her arms around herself and collapsed a little. Sam hesitated a little before asking:  
"Are you homesick?"  
She nodded weakly and again he hesitated.  
"Let's have breakfast, get dressed and then... we'll see that you get to know your new home a little."  
Her answer was to pour him tea.

~

No one in the huge palace kitchen took any notice of the two Highnesses when they entered. For Romy this wasn't bad at all, because she was looking at the ordered chaos in astonishment.  
"Didn't you ever sneak into the kitchen to grab sweets?" Sam asked amused.  
"As a child, I think. Together with Jocelyn. We did a lot of stupid things until her power began to unfold."  
"You did something stupid?" He could hardly believe it.  
"Yeah, sure." She nodded and together they retreated as a kitchen boy sweepingly dragged a basket of apples past them. "There is a tower somewhere, completely surrounded by new rooms. We broke open one of the locked embrasures and ended up in grandmother's tea room. She didn't think it was very funny."  
Sam giggled at the idea and then waved at one of the main chefs, who yelled instructions over the general noise level as he made his way to them.  
"Prince Sam," he gave a harsh greeting and nodded at Romy. "Was breakfast to your liking, Princess?" From an apron pocket he pulled out a stained notebook and a charcoal pencil.  
"I prefer sweet porridge and fruit, but-"  
"Ah. You don't eat meat, I hear. Fish?"  
"No, but-"  
"Is there anything you can't handle? Something you're mortally offended by? Absolute dislike?" While Donnik was pestering her with questions and at the same time hardly giving her time to answer them, a young baker approached.  
"Your Highness, forgive me..."  
"What's up?", Sam asked nicely and the young man, perhaps as old as Sam himself, held a plate out to him.  
"I was trying to improve the apple tart. Would... would you try one?"  
"Sure. What's in it but apple?"  
"They are apples from the Sacred Grove, Your Highness, and a mild blend of the usual winter spices..."  
Sam nodded and took one of the little tartlets. The firm crust and the tender cover crunched as he took a bite, honey-sweetened apple titillated his palate. From the viscous inside, a dark golden drop came loose, which he licked up before it got on his clothes. Almost immediately he had a very, very naughty thought in his head as the spices spread on his tongue. When Romy reached for his hand to bite off the tartlet, he blushed deeply. At first she looked at him questioningly, but then she herself blushed as if she had read his thoughts, which didn't make things any better. Still holding his wrist they looked at each other, chewing, completely forgetting the surroundings, until the baker cleared his throat expectantly.  
Romy audibly sucked in the air and put on a strange smile. "May I have these cakes for my birthday?"  
"Oh... oh, of course!" The baker blushed deeply as well. "I would be honored, Your Highness, Princess!"  
When she told him the date, Sam raised an eyebrow, and as the baker muttered away, he quietly remarked:  
"It sounds like I was your birthday present."  
"A rather doubtful one, I would say." she returned.  
"Doubtful?"  
"You cost me a lot of nerve."  
"Excuse me, but-"  
The corners of her mouth twitched and he realized she was teasing him. Teasing him!  
"I curse the day I taught you what humour is," he muttered and got a kiss on the cheek; two kitchen maids giggled silly.

~

"I know the room is smaller, but it shouldn't be a problem if it's well organized."  
"Sam..."  
"The carpenters will be eager to fulfill your wishes, and if you smile nicely, you'll surely find a stonemason carving a pentagram into the floor."  
"Sam..."  
"Oh, and if you seal this door, no uninvited visitors will stumble into any preparations which-"  
"Sam!"  
"Hmm?" He interrupted his thoughts and turned to Romy who seemed strangely nervous. He had considered the room as a witch laboratory, but with her expression he doubted his idea.  
"You're... you're really gonna let me have these rooms? Are your parents okay with it?"  
"Don't you like them?" Next to the large room in which they were standing, there was a smaller room that could serve as a study or storage and could be a kind of anteroom for the actual laboratory.  
"I do, yes, it's great!"  
"Then everything's okay."  
"But your parents..."  
"My dear parents must come to terms with this. You are a witch, not a princess."  
"I am a princess indeed."  
"When must a child born in peonage be granted free citizenship?"  
She blinked at him without understanding.  
"You're not a real princess, Romy, so why don't you set up a lab here, drive the gardeners crazy with weird plants in the backyard and..." The words _be happy_ remained stuck in his throat. "Be... be as much witch as you can be here. That is what you are," he said softly, making a vaguely inviting gesture. She nodded faintly and wrung her hands for a moment before she said just as softly:  
"I don't want to be just a witch. I... You... Someday you'll need a queen, and the country needs a queen, and... and I don't want..."  
"A lot of time will pass before then. At least I hope so," he replied slowly. He resisted a little, how much her efforts and her own inner struggle touched him, but despite the things that had happened, she was still a young woman who had left her home for her husband and now had to find her way in the new environment loaded with homesickness.  
"Perhaps my father will live long enough to hand the throne directly to a grandchild," he added, and managed to smile a little, although said grandchildren would have to be his own children. Romy nodded and stroked her fingers across the wall.  
"Thanks, Sam."  
"If... if it's really that important to you, you could talk to Gordon's teachers. I doubt they would object to any more lessons."

~

"Your Highness!"  
With a sigh, Sam paused. The walk through the castle gardens had been extremely silent but still very extensive, and now his stomach was rumbling; lunch must have been waiting.  
"Your Highness, the tailor is already waiting for you!" The errand boy gasped.  
"The tailor? I thought the appointment was tomorrow."  
The boy first shook his head, then shrugged. "They sent me to get you."  
"I hate tailors," Romy murmured sullenly.

A little later they entered the large studio on one of the upper floors, whose windows faced south. It was a colorful chaos, but a very quiet one. In one corner two elderly women were sitting embroidering a piece of clothing, at a large table a tailor and his apprentice were cutting a piece of cloth, another tailor and his apprentice were putting pieces of cloth together on a dummy. To the left and right there were sections where men and women were served separately, and from the left section Master Millard rushed towards them.  
"Your Highnesses, I am in high dudgeon!"  
Romy raised an eyebrow while Sam put on a smile - he knew the tailor.  
"Please forgive us, Master Millard, if we kept you waiting, but I feel as if the appointment was for tomorrow."  
"Fiddlesticks! As if we could waste even one minute on our future king's wardrobe! You are the main characters in the coming feast, my prince, and you must look magnificent! Magnificent!" Millard threw his arms in the air and Romy's eyebrows rose to unimaginable heights. Sam, on the other hand, got a stomach ache at the mention of the feast, which was not only a welcome-back-party but also his official declaration as heir to the throne. Then Millard turned to Romy.  
"Magnificent, I say, Princess. You offer me unprecedented possibilities, my dearest, what style do you prefer?"  
As Romy hesitated, Millard pointed to two dresses standing on racks at the side.  
"These are the robes for the Queen and Princess Ginevra."  
Romy made a face. "That's certainly not my style, Master Millard. I don't like dresses much."  
"That hurts me to the bone, Princess, you know? But I see your dress-up pragmatism, yes. Give me a minute of contemplation!" Dramatically he touched his forehead and Romy gave Sam a doubtful look.  
"You're a grown-up witch now," he murmured to her. "You're allowed to wear the really dark colors now, aren't you?"  
"Sure, but colors alone..." With audible clicking teeth she closed her mouth again. "A frock coat!"  
"A frock coat?" Sam repeated doubtfully.  
"A frock coat? A frock coat!" Millard stared at Romy with fascination, his eyes grew bigger and bigger. "My dear, you will shock the court with this! The ladies will faint in rows."  
"Even the queen?" Romy wanted to know almost hopefully.  
"Her honored majesty probably first," Millard assured her, and the hint of a smile plucked at the corner of Romy's mouth.  
"Please show me what you have in mind for my husband, Master Millard," she said politely and Millard began to beam. Sam, on the other hand, was almost glad that two apprentices approached him.  
"Your Highness, we need to measure you."  
"Of course." While Sam stood on a stool and the two of them scurried around him, he could hear Romy and Millard discussing from the other side of the room. He didn't understand individual words, but he didn't need to. If Romy got her frock coat, the court would still be whispering about it a hundred years from now...

~

"Um... Sam?"  
"Hmm?" He looked up from the documents Gerald had given him to prepare for the first council meeting after the ceremony. Romy had received a message from her maid Abby and was now studying it with a critically wrinkled forehead.  
"What does it mean, the Herald wants to know what titles I have?"  
"You know what a Herald is?" Sam asked, just in case.  
"Something like... No."  
He sighed. "A Herald announces the names and titles of the important people who enter at meetings or celebrations. Since it is about us, we will be the last and we will be announced with full titles."  
"And what does that look like? I mean, what kind of titles are those?" She looked at him irritated and he sighed again.  
"It sounds like this." He drew his breath. "Be honored by the appearance of Samson Alexander Frederick Appleberry, Prince of Whitehill, firstborn of King Gerald and Queen Sylvia, Lord of Mirtillo, Grasshill and Whitecreek, Master of the Apple Orchards-"  
"What? Master of the Apple Orchard?" In disbelief she looked at him and he shrugged.  
"Most of these are empty phrases. The lord's seats exist only on paper and contain no land, the _Master of the Apple Orchards_ or _Guardian of the Bees_ is a symbolic title of the firstborn."  
"Ah..."  
"Isn't there such traditional nonsense in your country?"  
"Probably, but I never cared," she admitted insecurely and then looked at him with her head tilted. "_Princess of Darkmoore_ is the only thing I can really think of."  
"Is _witch_ not a title?" he asked with a mocking undertone and she frowned.  
"_Witch in the service of the Great Mother_. Hmm. This could work."  
"I guess it doesn't matter what titles you adorn yourself with - they're shocked anyway."  
"I got my pride, too, you know?"  
"Yes, I am aware of it..." Almost worried, he watched as she began to write a reply to the Herald with an expression of satisfaction.

~

"I beg you, Princess," Abby sounded as if she was on the verge of despair, "You can't step in front of the king like that!"  
"Why not?"  
"Master Millard didn't make this shirt for nothing," Abby evaded the question.  
"Certainly not for nothing, no."  
"Please, princess, put on the shirt."  
Sam sighed silently at the discussion behind the screen and stepped in front of the mirror. His heavy jacket, made of green fabric and black ornaments, had double cuffs and black buttons. Master Millard had made dark green trousers for this purpose, which almost disappeared with the length of the jacket and the height of the boots. And Sam could definitely have done without the silly frills of the pale green shirt.  
Derek, the servant he had chosen for himself, pulled up a stool and tied Sam's hair into a simple braid with skillful fingers, leaving a playful strand hanging on the right side. When he had finished, Abby's plea reached its peak:  
"Princess, please! The court will think you're a slut, you're half-naked."  
"Excuse me?" Sam asked irritated and with a suppressed growl Romy stepped into his field of vision. She was wearing similar black boots and trousers made of the same green fabric, but the frock coat left Sam speechless. Floor-length, skin-tight from the hips up and with a very low neckline. Actually you couldn't even call it a neckline, because the lapel that opened in a wide V was backed with black lace, but the tip of the V started below her breasts and ... well. She was by no means half-naked, but he understood why a shirt should be worn underneath. He cleared his throat.  
"Are you sure you don't want to at least try it with a shirt?" They didn't really have time for that anymore, but dressed like this they couldn't avoid a scandal.  
"I did, and I don't like it." Romy turned to Abby. "The stones, please."  
"Of course, Princess." Abby took three hairpins from a bag with a resigned sigh, each with a shiny green stone at the end.  
"What is this?" Sam asked when Abby shoved the pins into Romy's wavy hair.  
"Oh, it's just glass and a little magic."  
"You look ravishing, Princess," Derek remarked, blushing violently at Sam's side glance. He was more of a teenager than a man and, until recently, had been something like an apprentice to Gerald's personal body servant. "Forgive me," he muttered, lowering his eyes.  
Sam sighed.  
"Don't you like it?" Romy wanted to know critically and tugged at the frock coat.  
"Yes, I do." The dark colours suited her well and gave her a royal paleness which seemed to glow from within.  
"But?"  
"You're lucky you're not my sister, or you'd be getting a lecture right now."  
She grimaced.  
"And I guess I must be glad that I'm already married to you," he added and sighed again when Romy's expression turned sour.  
"There is no better prince in the Eastern Kingdoms than the one from Whitehill," she explained gracefully and he snorted.  
"As I said, we are already married."

~

The doors to the throne room opened and Sam entered with Romy on his left. He stopped about two steps from the Herald, but he could hear its deep breathing clearly.  
"O ye present, be honoured by the appearance of Samson Alexander Frederick Appleberry, firstborn of Their Majesties King Gerald and Queen Sylvia, Crown Prince of Whitehill!"  
Said majesties sat stiff and upright on their thrones on the pedestal at the other end of the long hall.  
"Lord of Mirtillo, Grasshill and Whitecreek! Master of the Apple Orchards!" A few more empty titles were listed, then followed: "Knight of Whitehill! Dragon Knight of Darkmoore! Honour Guard of the Blackwood family! Blessed by the Great Mother Earth!"  
Apparently, Romy hadn't just been minding her own titles.  
"Accompanied by his wife, Romy Blackwood-Appleberry, Princess of Darkmoore!"  
Even over the Herald's powerful voice, Sam could hear someone gasping for air.  
"Witch in service of the Great Mother! Guardian of the Sacred Grove!"  
Sam tried to keep a straight face while someone else gasped for air.  
"Daughter of Dragons and Dragon Lady!"  
But now his eyebrow twitched up.  
"Blessed by the Great Mother Earth!" Finally, the Herald banged his staff three times on the stone tiles and Romy flinched. Sam moved with graceful slowness and Romy whispered:  
"Why do I have to go on your left?"  
"Have you no other worries at the moment? It's an old wedding tradition. If the couple were attacked before the wedding, the groom could hold his bride with his left hand and fight with his right," Sam whispered back angrily.  
"Ah. Are you armed?"  
"I have your dagger."  
"Good."  
He preferred to swallow the biting answer lying on the tip of his tongue in view of the throne pedestal which came relentlessly closer. Then they stopped in front of the first step and bowed deeply.  
"Your Majesty." Sam only addressed his father, but that was on purpose.  
"Prince Samson."  
"I appear before your throne here and now to proclaim the fulfilment of the task I have been given, my king." He had found old records of this procedure in the archive, even his father's. Gerald nodded and told him to continue with a finger wave.  
"I present to you and to the court my wife."  
Romy hinted at a curtsy.  
"We see you and your wife, Prince, and We have heard your announcement."  
Sam felt his hand in Romy's grip starting to tremble.  
"Throne and Crown of Whitehill are by law to be free from magic, Prince, and yet you have married a witch whose firstborn is always a witch itself," Gerald said coolly, and Sam swallowed hard; he had feared that moment.  
"I know, Your Majesty, and I have no intention of breaking this law," he said more confidently than he felt. "Our firstborn and any other magical child which may result from our union will be excluded from the succession to the throne upon awakening of the talent."  
"And yet you too will need an heir if you are to occupy Our throne one day, Prince." Gerald's tone was still uncomfortably cool.  
"Your Majesty, a witch can influence whether a child of her is gifted with magic or not."  
"Is this true?" Gerald almost interrupted Sam and Romy nodded.  
"Yes, your majesty. My first child will be a witch, but if you wish, the second child will be a son without any magical talent." She also sounded much more confident at this moment than when she had explained this point to Sam.  
"We see," Gerald said thoughtfully, creating a tense pause. They had already discussed it privately, but Sam was still afraid that his father would declare him unworthy of the crown in front of the assembled court. Then Gerald rose and all but Sam and Romy sank into a deep bow or curtsey. With dignity the king came down the seven steps of the pedestal and Romy squeezed Sam's hand.  
_If father disinherits me, I file for divorce_, it went through his mind and he swallowed hard when his father looked at him seriously.  
"Whitehill," the king proclaimed aloud, "has an heir!"  
Sam's knees softened with relief and for a long moment the buzz in his ears drowned out everything else. Then Romy squeezed his hand again and hurriedly he sank down with her to one knee in front of his father. Gerald accepted a crown ring from a light green velvet cushion, which he placed on Sam's head, then he carefully arranged a delicate tiara on Romy's hair.

~

"Prince Samson?"  
Sam, the wine cup on his lips, froze. Slowly he turned around and forced a smile on his face. "Princess Anne."  
Anne of Owlgrove stood before him and beamed at him. "It's good to see you again."  
"Yes..." Somehow the words failed him.  
"There are whispers that you saved your dear wife from a dragon. How exciting!"  
"Yes, but... this was the seventh dragon, so it's not quite so nerve-wracking." It sounded terribly boastful, but Anne looked at him with big eyes.  
"Oooooh..." she breathed affectedly. "I almost wish I had been taken by a dragon too, and not by some crazy wizard." Before Sam could say anything, she continued with a flirtatious flutter of eyelashes: "They say Princess Romy cared for you afterwards."  
"Um... yeah, right." In a hurry he took a sip of wine.  
"An honorable task to take care of a hero."  
"What are you doing here, anyway?" he interrupted her somewhat rudely. In the last few days so many nobles had arrived in Feather Springs and the castle itself that he had lost track of the guests- but Anne was not from Whitehill and Owlgrove was not a neighbouring country either.  
"Oh, well..." She seemed embarrassed. "Your celebration and my presence coincided rather accidentally. I am here to be officially handed over to my fiancé."  
"Ah, who is the lucky one?", Sam now wanted to know curiously, but before Anne could answer, Romy put a hand on his arm.  
"Sam."  
"Dear, may I present Princess Anne of Owlgrove?"  
"Delighted to meet you."  
"Likewise."  
The way they looked at each other, Anne's glances hadn't escaped Romy.  
"If you ladies will excuse me..." After a friendly nod he hurried away to escape a possible catfight.  
Actually he just wanted to get some of the morsels from the set up buffet, but every few steps he had to talk to nobles and when someone shouted an amused "hey, Sam" to him, he couldn't suppress an annoyed sigh.  
"Hey, hey, I just wanted to say hi."  
"Benedikt?" Surprised, Sam looked at Franz's older brother, on whose broad face lay a happy grin.  
"Congratulations on your successful bridal search, my friend."  
"Thank you," Sam said automatically, and discomfort filled his stomach. "I haven't heard from Franz yet. How is he doing on the other side of the mountains?"  
Benedikt's grin went out and he stared into his wine cup for a moment. Very quietly he said:  
"Franz was kidnapped by a dragon not quite two years ago, Sam. We haven't heard from him since."  
"Oh." Apparently his face said enough, as Benedikt gently patted him on the shoulder.  
"I know how close you used to be. Our parents forbade us to talk about it, otherwise Desiree or I would have written to you, since you were travelling..."  
Sam nodded uneasy and Benedikt sighed.  
"But there is also good news. All my other siblings are diligently providing the family with offspring and I am the last one to marry, what a joy."  
"Wait, you wouldn't happen to be here to escort Anne of Owlgrove home?"  
"How do you know?" Benedikt seemed surprised.  
"She told me she was here to meet her fiancé," Sam said, then added: "I feel sorry for you."  
"Because?"  
"I saved her from a crazy wizard in the spring, and I'm seriously wondering why I was upset about her not becoming my bride. And I suppose she'll rub it in your face."  
"So what? We'll live in Kyaine, and I can avoid her there." Benedikt sighed and shrugged. "At least she's pretty," he added, and Sam raised an eyebrow. "Not comparable to your Romy, sure, but hey, a couple of kids will come around. Not that Kyaine needs it..."  
"Were you hoping for someone else?" Sam asked carefully, and Benedikt shrugged again.  
"Mother had promised me that I could find myself a wife. And then Owlgrove came around the corner and was desperately looking for a prince for the youngest daughter. I mean, I have so many brothers and sisters that I don't matter, but... yes, I was hoping for something different than one of those how-do-I-get-the-most-valuable-prince ladies."  
Sam nodded. "That describes her quite well."  
Benedikt put on a forced smile. "I thought so. I'm happy for you, I really am. Don't let me spoil your fun."  
"Oh, no, that's not it." Sam broke off when he saw his cousin Gloria, who at that very moment sank in a deep curtsy in front of Romy. Submissively respectively condescendingly the two exchanged a few words.  
"What the...?" But then Gloria got up and together they came over to Sam.  
"Talk to you later," Benedikt murmured, and left before Sam could react.  
"Sam..." Gloria said softly and nodded politely.  
"What... was that?" Sam asked irritated and Romy smiled weakly.  
"Your cousin is a witch."  
"A... oh."  
"She married into Darkmoore. An honor for a witch whose power is limited," Romy continued and Gloria nodded hurriedly. Gerald's younger sister Grace had married Lord Southbridge, whose land bordered directly on Darkmoore and now seemed to have a real connection to his neighbours.  
"So the circle is complete," Gloria said into the silence. Sam just nodded, because he didn't know what to say.  
"I'm going to talk to Ginevra," she said and hurried away. Surprised, Sam blinked and flinched when Romy joined him.  
"She is not powerful enough to perform the ritual, but she has married the son of a powerful lady and her daughter should be much stronger already." She paused. "Marriage politics causes headaches."  
Sam nodded silently. The wine in his cup had become disgustingly warm and he himself also began to sweat in the overheated room. After years of relative calm, all the attention he had received this evening was almost too much for him.  
"No honourable lady has yet fainted at the sight of me," Romy then remarked with amused undertone. "And your mother just ignores me."  
Sam nodded again silently and let his eyes wander over the crowd.  
"And you ignore me, too." She poked a finger into his ribs.  
"I'm not doing anything," he protested and looked at her angrily. In reply, she raised an eyebrow.  
"Yes, you do. First you talk of many, many children to come, and then you ignore your beloved wife."  
He sighed. "That dramatic tone doesn't suit you."  
"Kiss me and I'll stop complaining. I want people to see that you married the horrible witch for a reason."  
"Love is overrated."  
"Says the man who is supposedly head over heels in love," she responded and gave him a meaningful look. In a tender gesture, he put an arm around her and pulled her to him, she placed the hand enclosed in the half embrace on his shoulder. They looked at each other and for a moment her scent overshadowed the stuffy haze of sweat and perfume of everyone else present. He kissed her gently and then murmured against her lips:  
"At least this gives us a good reason to leave early."  
"You mean we're working on the first of these many, many children?" she murmured back and stole a second kiss from him.  
"I don't care what anybody else thinks as long as I get out of here." After a third kiss, he leaned back and forced himself to smile meaningful; an elderly lady who caught his gaze smiled mischievously back. He pulled Romy gently with him, and when said lady was within earshot, he said:  
"Let's go, O Queen of my heart."  
"Don't overdo it," Romy murmured back, but with a smile, as if saying something very similar to his words.  
"Who's talking about many, many children all the time, huh?"  
"You started this."  
"Oh, no, I just said there had to be several for very obvious reasons."  
"You see, that implies more than two. A witch, an heir and a replacement."  
"That's pretty loveless."  
"You think so? If I understand you correctly, Gordon's only there for placation."  
"Maybe, but he's still loved. And I repeat myself. I will love Valerie too, even if she sets fire to the throne room."  
"First of all, these things don't just happen, and second, who said her name was gonna be Valerie?"  
"That's what I've decided."  
"And who gives you the right?"  
"I'm more important."  
"And I have the pain."  
"You said you thought the name was pretty."  
"So what?"  
Hiding their little dispute behind loving glances and smiles they left the ballroom.

As soon as they reached their rooms, the smile fell from Sam's face and he let Romy go. Straight away, he went into the dressing room and began to undress. Not that he really intended to work on Valerie, he was just sweaty and tired. Romy entered the dressing room much more slowly and with an annoyed furrowed forehead, fiddling with hidden buttons on her frock coat.  
Just as he turned around to offer her his help, the heavy fabric slipped apart, exposing her breasts. A certain part of his body found the sight quite pleasing, but his head shouted a rather loud _no_ downwards. Romy noticed his look and something changed in her face before she turned away almost jerkily.  
A part of him could feel her, even though she was several meters away.  
A part of him wanted to touch her, to feel the hint of magic that was always on her skin.  
And the part of him she had magically locked away cried out in terror at the thought.  
He felt her quill on his skin, the needle on his lips, her trembling body in his arms, her fingers on his skin, the magic in his bones, the need to protect her, her lips on his, the stiletto on his neck-  
"Good night, Sam."  
He snapped back to reality.  
"Good night, Romy."  
She didn't look at him when she passed him.  
He wondered how Erik felt about Jocelyn deep inside and how he felt about the duty that called him to be the father of the queen after next. Turning his wedding ring, Sam looked at his reflection in the mirror and whispered in his mind:  
_"Get used to kissing her. One step at a time. You have time. She won't hurt you again."_  
_"Did she hurt you on your wedding night?"_ whispered his reflection in the mirror. He turned away, finished changing and then went into the bedroom, where a lonely candle was burning on his bedside table. Romy was hardly visible under the heavy blanket.  
He blew out the candle and climbed into his marriage bed, whose sheets would remain clean as on all previous nights.


	29. Gestures and words are for some wounds the best medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of things to talk about...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is with more than 9000 words kind of a triple one, but I just didn't find the right point to split it. In the end, I think it's understandable...

"I would say Lord Redblossom's statement brings this meeting to a close." Gerald nodded into the audience. "We'll discuss all further thoughts on this matter tomorrow morning." This ended the council meeting and Sam nodded briefly to his father before he arranged his notes. The Lords or elected representatives of them left the large council room for a late lunch, and Sam also grabbed his folder.  
"Gerald, a word." There weren't many people who would approach the king personally in such a public environment and so Sam took a look over his shoulder. Lord Stephan Cherrywood had stepped up to Gerald on the other side of the long table, a serious expression on his face.  
"What can I do for you, Stephan?" Gerald asked with a fine smile.  
"Now that Samson's back, there are certain things we should probably talk about."  
Inwardly Sam rolled his eyes - for days he had been noticing how the second or even the first sentence of different conversations had a very similar content. It was not difficult to imagine what many of these conversations might be about: Gordon. The king's son was sixteen and there were no official promises of his future bride. Sam had indeed a little sympathy for his little brother, although he certainly felt that Gordon was more interested in being a knight than in girls at the moment. Which wasn't bad actually.  
"Give the folder to Derek and have him put it right on my desk," Sam said to one of the waiting messenger boys, who nodded hurriedly.  
"Of course, Your Highness."  
Sam's stomach rumbled and so he turned towards the public dining room only to be intercepted by Gavin a few corners further on.  
"Hey, Sam."  
"Gavin. Have you eaten yet?"  
"No. Actually, I was gonna ask you to join me."  
"Sure." But at the expression on Gavin's face, Sam made his way to the family dining room.

Arriving there, two servants immediately rushed over to serve a preliminary soup until the actual meal arrived.  
"You've been getting around a lot, haven't you?" Gavin asked as they started spooning.  
"You could say that, yes," Sam replied in the same casual tone.  
"How did you meet Owen?"  
Sam had been waiting for this question for three weeks. "How? He was coming out of a building and suddenly was standing in front of me."  
Gavin seemed confused.  
"Where? In Darkmoore, at the royal court."  
"In... at..." Now the younger prince opened his mouth in surprise. "How so?"  
Sam paused and inspected his counterpart. "Gavin," he started, "if you want to know something, ask the _right_ questions."  
"Sorry, I..." Gavin put the spoon aside and took a deep breath. "You said he sends greetings."  
"Yes." Sam nodded, and because Gavin still looked like he was more likely to trip over his tongue than get a decent sentence out, he said: "Owen is part of the personal guard of Princess Elisabeth, Ellie." He had been thinking for quite some time about how to present the matter to Gavin. "We became friends and he told me about you, complained about princes and so on. But no matter what he said, he always sounded sad and loving at the same time." Short and sweet and what Gavin had wanted to hear, for a sad smile flitted across his face.  
"It still hurts that father forced me to send him away. I wouldn't have resisted marrying, my goodness, I realise I'm the damn heir apparent and an only child, but Ginny..." He sighed.  
"Ginny...?"  
"I tried, I really did. I like her, she's a wonderful woman, a wonderful friend and I'm intelligent enough to know she'll be a wonderful queen, but as a couple we're just ... not good."  
"What do you mean?" Sam followed up; they seemed pretty cute together, actually.  
"I told her about Owen and she's okay with it."  
Something else would have surprised Sam, because Ginevra had always been very relaxed about such things.  
"But I think she's unhappy," Gavin said softly, pressing his lips together until the servants, who cleared away the barely touched soup and brought in a vegetable gratin and slices of roast instead, disappeared again.  
"She has no real duties, you know, and she's too lively for the more secluded manner of the northern nobles. So we came here for the winter."  
Sam nodded, although Ginevra had given him another reason.  
"I think she would be happier if she could take care of a child." And there was obviously the real problem, as the two had been married for over a year and were still childless.  
Sam nodded again. "She was always dreaming of children and mothering her dolls. Or Gordon."  
Gavin smiled faintly and then grimaced tortured. "I wish... damn it, I wish it was different, but it's so hard for me." No further explanation was needed.  
"And in the end, you're both unhappy," Sam summed up as Gavin squashed his gratin to mud, searching for words.  
"Looks like it." He sighed. "Owen wrote me, you know, twice and then not again. I couldn't answer him, he never said where exactly he was, but I would have if I could have."  
"Now you know where he is." Sam wasn't sure if Ellie would pass a letter to him and if so, if she would let him answer, but it was worth a try.  
"Yes. Thanks, Sam, really." Gavin wrung a smile. "Even if he wants to have nothing more to do with me, it would be nice to know for sure."  
"I doubt it. He misses you. And it hurt him deeply to be sent away."  
Gavin seemed unconvinced but nodded and Sam bit his lip. He couldn't tell Benedikt - who had left with Anne yesterday - or Gavin the truth.  
"Just try."  
Gavin nodded again. "You told him about Ginny, didn't you?"  
"Yes. I didn't know about your... relationship at the time, but he knew you were getting married, so it didn't surprise him too much."  
In the entering silence Sam finally started to eat and tried to imagine Gavin and Owen together. Not in bed, goodness, but in everyday life... and he knew Owen well enough to imagine him absolutely happy. He almost wished that Ellie would let Owen go after the ritual. According to Romy, many witches gave their second or third knights various freedoms, but even if... Sam had promised Owen to help him get back to the Threehills court without really thinking about Ginevra. Would she accept her husband's lover beside her? Well, if it made Gavin happier, it might have had a positive effect on the overall situation... And then he felt the unpleasant tingling in his neck that Owen would hardly keep from his lover what kind of love affairs he had had during the involuntary separation.  
Sam looked up from his plate. Gavin still poked at his food more than he really ate, but he seemed mostly thoughtful. Knights usually cherished the truth, but Sam would certainly keep his mouth shut in this case.

~

"Shield up!"  
"Stop yelling at the poor boy."  
"I can yell at my brother any way I want. And you hold your sword straight, you don't want to cut ham."  
"Hey!" Alistair protested while Gordon chuckled with a choking sound. "Save your breath, kid, we're not finished yet."  
"That's not fair." Promptly Gordon started wheezing while he continued to hang on defensively against Alistair. "I was fighting Romy earlier."  
"You really let your wife fight dagger fights?" Alistair wanted to know amused and slammed the blunt training sword so hard on the shield that it crunched ominously. Gordon grunted.  
"Why not? She's good, and Gordon's learning."  
"Yes," he gasped, "getting healed is painful."  
"Then see that you don't need a healing," was Sam's succinct response.  
"Asshole."  
Alistair laughed softly. "Perhaps I should suggest something like this to Marian."  
"As far as I know, she can't heal." Sam frowned, also because Gordon was swinging too far for a riposte.  
"No, but a little fight starting in the living room and ending in the bedroom..."  
With a false grin on his face, Sam watched as Alistair struck again hard and Gordon dropped his shield with a scream.  
"Fuck it! Do you always tear smaller opponents to shreds like that?" he grimaced at Alistair, who shrugged.  
"Foe is foe."  
"Right." Sam nodded.  
"That's not funny," Gordon kept moaning and rubbed his shoulder before picking up the shield. "I've had enough for today. Bye."  
"Bye-bye!" Affected, Alistair waved after him. "He's damn tough, I'll give him that," he said then and Sam nodded.  
"In a few years, he'll make a damn good knight."  
"Unless a pretty princess puts handcuffs on him first."  
"You like power fantasies, huh?" Sam grinned at Alistair, who shrugged carefree.  
"I'd rather be defeated in the bedroom than on the battlefield."  
"Good point."  
In a peaceful silence they put away their exercise equipment.  
"Well, we'II see tomorrow?" Alistair wanted to know.  
"I suppose so. Let's see first what the council meeting has to say. If things go badly, I'll spend the afternoon in the study with my father."  
"The hard life of a prince, my friend." With a wink Alistair patted Sam on the shoulder and their paths separated.

Sam, sweaty and stiff, entered the big family bathroom. The heated basin had room for three people, but Gordon had spread his arms and sat there like a spoiled king.  
"Make way for the heir," Sam said mockingly, and Gordon sighed.  
"Is there no rest from you anywhere?" Nevertheless, he obediently moved a bit. Ever since they had first relaxed here after a training round after Sam's return, Gordon looked at him strangely and this time Sam calmly remarked:  
"I don't have anything you wouldn't have." Except for a few scars, maybe.  
"But I have something you don't." Gordon countered as Sam slipped into the water. "Hair."  
"Oh. Yeah." Sam shrugged. "One of Romy's spells went a little overboard."  
"Should have been limited to a certain region, huh?" Gordon grinned and blushed.  
"No, it was meant for the whole body, but the hair should have grown back." Which it definitely wasn't, but by now Sam had gotten used to it. "You've got enough hair for both of us," he returned with a quiet scoff and Gordon rolled his eyes.  
It was quiet for a while and Sam dived down to wash the sweat out of his hair. Only yesterday Romy had complained again after a long time that he stank.  
"How many girls have you kissed on your journey?" Gordon wanted to know so suddenly that for a moment Sam wasn't sure if he had heard correctly. He blinked while Gordon looked at him questioningly.  
"Um... one. Romy."  
"You don't have to play the white knight, Sam."  
"No, I mean it."  
In disbelief, Gordon looked at him and then lowered his eyes. Apparently, he was hoping for a different answer.  
"Have you ever kissed a girl?" Sam then asked cautiously.  
"No."  
"A boy?"  
Gordon looked at him doubtfully. "Why would I want to kiss a boy?"  
"To practice? I mean, you know that love doesn't just exist between man and woman, right?"  
"Yeah, sure... Wait, are you saying you kissed boys?"  
Sam nodded and shrugged at the same time as if it was the most normal thing in the world - which it basically was. Gordon looked as if he had to chew an answer until it was smooth before he could get it out, and so Sam just went on:  
"Remember Franz? No, do you?" He got a shake of the head. "When we were 15, he taught me how to kiss."  
"Why?"  
"There was a girl who wanted to kiss me. I wouldn't have minded, but I was afraid of embarrassing myself."  
Gordon nodded thoughtfully and again a certain silence arose. Sam thought of the deep embarrassment of the explanatory conversations with Romy and could not suppress a smile.  
"Dad certainly had that awful talk with you, but-"  
"Don't remind me," Gordon muttered and blushed deeply. Sam didn't follow up, but Gordon continued on his own. "I asked questions because it wasn't entirely clear to me exactly why you were leaving. It took me a long time to understand what he was explaining. I wasn't ready for this." His voice had become increasingly soft. Sam patted him on the shoulder to cheer him up.  
"If you still-"  
"Sam! Just because you're married now doesn't mean you have to act up. Save it for your own sons."  
"Okay."  
Then Gordon sighed. "If you can't talk about romantic adventures, at least tell me about dragons."  
"Do you honestly think I would confess my intimate secrets, if there were any?"  
"Are you seriously telling me that Romy's hand was the first one to touch your dick?" Gordon snorted and Sam rolled his eyes.  
"I was your age once, too."  
"And now you're all grown up and married and boring, I get it."  
Sam sighed deeply and then decided to tell Gordon as much truth as possible. And of the five years he had been away, he had actually spent more than four in a way that he could unembellished share with his little brother. Four-fifths of the truth, a good average.

Before he even got to the part taking place in Darkmoore, Gordon had matured from listening alone for several years. Sam could see it in his eyes, in the way his lips twitched or his shoulders tightened. And when the polished version of his visit to Darkmoore was told, Gordon rubbed his neck.  
"I think," he said slowly and thoughtfully raised his eyes to the ceiling, "I'm asking father for a year off after my accolade. I'll get a squire and just travel the world."  
Sam smiled wordlessly and nodded. It suited Gordon.  
"Although... I'd like to travel with you."  
That surprised Sam after all. "Really?"  
Gordon nodded. "Let's go kill a dragon together. Stand by the sea. Climb in the mountains. I'd like that."  
"Me too," Sam said before he knew it.  
Gordon smiled. "It's good to have you back."

~

"I wasn't aware I married such a hothead," Romy remarked emphatically neutral as the door of the living room, where the family frequently gathered for the evening, slammed shut.  
"I'm not a hothead!" Sam hissed angrily.  
"No, of course you're not. That's why you didn't spend two hours outtalking Gordon and Ginevra."  
"I'm not outtalking anybody!" His voice echoed loudly in the hallway. "But Gordon is far too bloodthirsty for an honorable knight! Great Mother, a war with Redriver..."  
"I'm not saying he's right. I'm just saying that you guys have been at each other's throats."  
"We're not." protested Sam.  
"Then why are you storming through the castle in a rage?"  
"Because..." He closed his mouth and stopped. Romy paused next to him with her head crooked and her brow raised.  
"Hothead."  
In a grumpy gesture he wiped a strand of hair from his eyes.  
"You're a remarkable likeness of your mother, you know that?"  
"Stop it," he muttered and started moving again.  
"You've been different since we got here," she continued.  
"To what extent?", he wanted to know, although for the moment the answer didn't really interest him much. Gordon's claim that the political marriage between Gerald and Sylvia was absolutely unnecessary and even harmful was weighing heavily on his stomach.  
"You're more serious, stronger... dominant."  
"Please excuse me if this offends your delicate mind, but I am heir to the throne here and not just the knight of a child witch," he returned sarcastically, swallowing a version of the sentence that certainly did not belong in the public of the castle hallways.  
"I am aware of it."  
"There you go."  
"And yet I never thought you could get as hot-tempered as Gordon or Sylvia."  
He sighed deeply. In a way Romy was right, but it was also true that he had a completely different role here than in Darkmoore. And besides: "I'm Sylvia's son, my goodness, but time passes and changes us."  
"I'm aware of it, too."  
"Then why are you complaining?"  
"I'm not complaining. It was just an observation."  
Sam gave a growl and then said: "You've changed too."  
"You've changed me."  
"Well, somebody had to take care of this catastrophe of a princess." It could have been loving mockery, softened by a wink or a kiss, but Sam's dry tone with a hint of bitterness had nothing loving about it.

As they walked on in silence and finally reached their rooms he realized that she had meant her statement in a positive way and was obviously hurt by his answer. In the mirror of the dressing room their eyes met for a moment and he took a breath to apologize somehow, but she lowered her gaze and walked past him.  
It was a bad day. Or at least Sam had started to divide the days into good and bad days in terms of their relationship. On good days he didn't mind holding her hand, pulling her to him and his smile felt real. On bad days her touch, sometimes even her mere presence in the same room was like too much coffee in the morning and made him nervous. On bad days, he had to force himself to smile and said little to avoid saying the wrong thing.  
He flinched when suddenly her hand was on his naked back. Holding his pyjama bottoms up by the lacing, he lifted his gaze into the mirror where he met Romys. She stood half behind him, looking over his shoulder, her fingertips twitching on his skin, and then she bent over to kiss him on the cheek.  
"Good night, hothead," she said softly, and her breath on his ear gave him goose bumps.  
"Good night, dear."  
Even though she had learned to smile properly by now, she sometimes did it in a way only Sam could understand. Now her eyes smiled, though her lips didn't even twitch.  
Maybe it wasn't such a bad day after all.

~

Romy's hand smacked flat on the table and Sam flinched.  
"Yeah?"  
"You're not listening to me at all."  
"Excuse me. What did you say?" He laboriously tore his eyes away from the document he had just read. Romy looked at him angrily.  
"I was talking about Isaac."  
"Oh." That was enough for him to put the paper aside. "How is he? I mean, I've tried talking to him, but he keeps avoiding me."  
"Me too. But I've spoken to the barracks doctor several times since we arrived, told him about the... _magical trauma_, and he said Isaac's doing okay so far."  
"That sounds like a _but_."  
She sighed. "He doesn't consider himself a knight. My mother's accolade has no meaning for him anymore and he wants to take the real trials in the fall, when he turns twenty-one."  
Sam chewed on his lower lip for a moment and noticed that he had hardly touched his lunch; it was probably cold by now. "I can't even blame him," he replied and she sighed again.  
"Nor can I blame him, but it worries me a little."  
"After all," he said softly, "he's healing."  
She nodded. "Yes, he is."  
That's all Sam had hoped for his former squire, that time would fix things - in whatever way.

~

"And... Checkmate," Gavin announced for the third time that night.  
Sam sighed. He emptied his whiskey glass and gave the grinning Gavin a playful-annoyed look before he was looking into the round. The atmosphere in the family living room was tense and Sam could almost feel the tingling on his skin.  
Sylvia and Ginevra, who were both sitting embroidering on a sofa, had argued so violently in the morning that tears were shed - Sam had asked Gavin about it but only got a shrug in response.  
Gerald was sitting in an armchair reading a book while he, lost in thought, turned his whisky glass between his fingers.  
Gordon and Romy were sitting at another table, quietly mumbling and immersed in some economic scheme. Since Romy had joined Gordon's lessons in economics and politics and had recently been training dagger combat with the squires - much to the displeasure of all the ladies-in-waiting - the two spent a lot of time together, but Sam didn't mind. Probably it should have bothered him or at least aroused a healthy jealousy, but he was just glad that Romy was busy.  
While Gavin set up the chess pieces neatly, Sam got up and walked over to the drinks cabinet with the whiskey carafe in the open door.  
"Hey, Dad, how about you end Gavin's winning streak before our neighbours get cocky about their tactics?" He poured himself a drink, Gerald laughed softly.  
"Are you ready to lose?" he asked Gavin and put his book away.  
"If you were the one who taught Sam to play chess, I certainly don't lose."  
"Hey!"  
"Well, we'll see about that."  
Sipping the whiskey Sam watched the first moves of the two and smiled at their focused expressions.

He was about to refill his glass when Romy admonishingly said:  
"You shouldn't drink so much."  
He hushed a sigh. "When do I ever drink?" Sometimes a beer with the other knights or a little wine when the family had dinner together.  
"Neither regular nor excessive drinking is healthy."  
"Take it from a healer," Sylvia interfered and Sam rolled his eyes. Sylvia never called Romy a witch, but always a healer, as if she compulsively wanted to forget what kind of magic was behind it (as if it really mattered).  
"Don't interfere," Ginevra murmured softly in between, but Sylvia pursed her lips and continued:  
"I doubt very much that alcohol would benefit your fertility."  
"Mum!" Ginevra hissed, while Sam's shoulders slumped down in annoyance. He saw Gerald and Gavin duck their heads almost at the same time and Gordon - already suspecting evil - cover his face with his hands.  
"An excellent point," Romy remarked coolly.  
"As if the magic you filled me to the brim with had been healthier." No sooner was that sentence out than Sam regretted it. It was the first day of Romy's moontime and he saw it twitch in her face.  
"Samson."  
But provocatively he emptied his glass.  
"Watch your mouth."  
Even more provocatively, he poured himself another drink. "What, are you gonna take out the needle again?" He raised an eyebrow and sipped the whiskey.  
"Maybe."  
A delicate smile played around his lips. "I wanna see."  
"Put the glass down."  
"I think my balls can handle a few more sips, thanks." In the presence of his parents he denied himself to pat his crotch. Romy rose jerkily and positioned herself directly in front of him.  
"Put the glass down."  
Slowly he lifted the glass to his lips and drank - there was just enough space between them. She grabbed it and although it wouldn't have surprised him if she had poured the rest over his head, she slammed the glass onto an extended shelf of the drinks cabinet behind him. He felt the alcohol in his head, heard it in his tone of voice and in his words as he said softly:  
"You have no power over me here, little witch. No bonds, no shackles, no stiletto... No runes, no potions, no rituals... You have only yourself."  
Whatever she saw in his face made her lower lip tremble with rage. "Fuck you," she hissed.  
"Fuck yourself. Or make a love potion," he returned coldly. Her hand twitched as if she wanted to slap him, but instead she stormed off and slammed the door behind her.  
"Don't fall for a witch," he said after a moment of dead silence to Gordon, who was still uneasily holding the textbook.

The other knights didn't ask any questions when Sam joined them in the common room of the barracks and joined the merry card games and beer drinking. When only Alistair, Nathaniel and Oliver were left, they went over to the dice, and with Alistair, Sam still rolled the dice for copper coins as the first knights and squires of the early shift passed by.  
"Maybe we shou' stop," Sam remarked as he noticed the critical glare of a knight who briefly put his head through the door because of the noise.  
"You only say this... because you're winn'n," Alistair protested with little red eyes.  
"Yeah..." Sam agreed with a daft grin, collected his coins and rose staggeringly.

It took him a disproportionate amount of time to get to his rooms and when he arrived there, he realized unimpressed that Romy had already had breakfast and had disappeared. Without changing or at least undressing he fell into bed.

"Sam...?"  
Moaning, he turned to the soft voice. "Mmmmh.", he then made reluctantly, his head pounding.  
"Sam..."  
He blinked at Romy, who then sat down carefully on the edge of the bed with a steaming cup in her hand.  
"What time?" His tongue was heavy like lead.  
"Time for a late lunch."  
"Hmm." The sound was almost a grunt and he sat up clumsily. Fighting down the dizziness, he swung the legs out of bed past Romy, but when he wanted to get up, she put one hand on his forearm and held the cup out to him with the other. With a critical glance he reached for it and finally sipped the bitter brew.  
"I'm sorry," Romy suddenly whispered. "It shouldn't have escalated like this yesterday. Not in front of your family."  
He choked down a big sip of the potion and then murmured: "I'm sorry too. What I said... and for not coming back."  
She nodded weakly, pressed his arm briefly and then pulled her hand back.  
"It's not my family, it's ours." He wasn't sure why he was bringing up this thought at this particular time. But they were there, those moments when Romy fitted into the picture as if she had always belonged to it, when Sam forgot what had happened between them. With eyes wide in surprise, she looked at him, then she nodded again, barely noticeable. He emptied the cup and stood, his head still buzzing.  
"Sam..." Romy stayed seated and looked up at him strangely. "I... I'd like a little more attention. From you. The real Sam."  
He licked his dry lips. "As sorry as I am for my words in retrospect... but yesterday was the real Sam."

~

"Sam."  
"Hmm?"  
"Sam!"  
"Hmm?"  
"Samson!"  
_"What?"_ he snarled annoyed and lifted his eyes from his papers. Romy sat stiff at her desk, eyes wide and her lower lip trembling. In front of her lay a small wooden box, perhaps as long as a finger, into which she stared. When she didn't answer, he sighed, but then she pulled a strange milky white ball out of the box with trembling fingers. Her gaze twitched to him.  
"Franz is dead."  
He winked at her uncomprehendingly. "Excuse me?"  
"Franz is dead," she repeated in an unsettled voice. Frowning, he looked at the calendar in which she had marked the date of Ellie's ritual - it was still almost two weeks away.  
"It wasn't the ritual," Romy said softly as she followed Sam's gaze. "Ellie could've held it off on the other end of the world, but as her sister, I'd feel it."  
"If it wasn't the ritual, what was it?" he asked slowly. The meaning of her words came to him only slowly.  
"I don't know."  
"How do you even know?" he asked doubtfully and she lifted the little ball.  
"I... I actually wanted to give you this. In memory of Franz and Owen. The balls are... they can lead you to them." A second ball she held up was blood-red.  
"This is bloodmagic," he said. He didn't have to think about why she hadn't given him the little orbs.  
"Separating witchcraft from bloodmagic is not necessarily easy. My body contains my magic, so does my blood."  
"But surely this was created from _their_ blood?"  
"Sure... but with my magic." She made a surly gesture. "But that's not the point. Franz' ball is white, which means his blood is dead."  
Sam nodded silently and lowered his eyes to the papers in front of him. The writing on them became blurry. Suddenly Romy took the pen out of his hand and put the white ball in instead. He automatically closed his fingers around it - it was freezing cold. His chair scraped across the floor as he stood up to approach the balcony door. It was the wrong direction, but still he stared out into the night.  
"I'm sorry," Romy whispered behind him. In the reflection of the glass he saw her raise a hand in a consoling gesture, but she didn't touch him in the end.

Sam was numb. He saw Franz in front of him, heard his voice, his laughter, felt his kisses. He saw Franz' tears and his fear. He saw the broken expression in his eyes, saw him standing next to Ellie. He saw him with theatrical gestures and a cheeky grin. And he didn't resist when Romy at some point gently dragged him along with her, helped him to change and tucked him into bed. He pressed the cold white ball to himself and hoped to warm it up, but on the contrary - the cold seemed to seep into him.  
Romy's body heat as she snuggled up against him from behind was almost a shock. She had already had her moontime twice here in Whitehill, but in none of those nights he had held her in his arms as he had done in Darkmoore. Now she held him, as she had held him the night of the ritual, as if it meant something to her, as if his grief touched her. And then she began to sing softly. It was a nursery rhyme about a boy who climbs up to the stars at night to find a dragon to protect his friend from his nightmares.  
Sam cried silent tears. With one hand he pressed the white ball to his chest, with the other he clasped Romy's hand like a lifeline. He could feel her magic brushing against his skin.  
"Sleep, little knight..." she whispered into the melody. "Sleep, little dragon..."

~

"You have to eat something," Romy said softly, but Sam shook his head.  
"I can't."  
She sighed, but it was sympathetic. As she sat down on the couch beside him, he looked up briefly. Irritatingly, she played with an egg.  
"I have news."  
He raised an eyebrow.  
"I managed to contact Jonas and...", she paused for a moment, "it was suicide. Owen helped him." Sam had thought of an ugly accident and was now surprised. The magic that had kept him from thinking of any escape possibilities had also kept him from wanton self harm. He had assumed that the slave rings were doing the same.  
"How is it possible?" he asked, and Romy grimaced as she constantly let the egg slide from one hand to the other.  
"Besides the fact that I don't like slave rings, there's another reason why you didn't wear one. You're too strong."  
He looked at her with irritation. "Which means?"  
"After sufficient provocation you could have blown up the ring with a strong emotional outburst."  
Stunned, he blinked.  
"With Owen, I almost expected him to succeed, but... well. Together they pushed the boundaries of the rings so far that Franz... escaped."  
"Escaped. Nice choice of words."  
"Sam..."  
"No, I'm serious. He was already broken, Romy, he... Great Mother, where did he take the strength to do that?"  
"The power of despair?" she surmised softly.  
"I wish I could have told him about the ritual. I mean", he laughed almost hysterically, "to die while an orgasm is still pulsating inside you is surely a thousand times nicer than assisted suicide."  
Romy said nothing about this and after a while tears rolled down Sam's cheeks. Romy had excused him for both family breakfast and dinner and he had done nothing but sit here all day long and mourn.

"Would you like to create a monument to Franz?"  
"What... what do you mean?" Sam sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve. Romy held up the egg.  
"Bloodmagic can create a kind of living tombstone."  
He looked skeptically from the egg to Romy. "And what do you need for that, besides the egg?"  
"A little of your blood, a few tears, your memories and thoughts of Franz."  
After some hesitation he nodded.  
"Then come." She rose and slowly he followed her into the dressing room, where she put on a heavy coat.  
"Where are we going?"  
"To the garden."

Directly in view from their rooms, they knelt down in front of a group of bushes. Romy held up the egg and looked seriously at Sam in the faint glow of a tiny witch light.  
"I'm going to cut your palms. You have to push the egg into the incisions and think of Franz as hard as you can, of everything nice and bad. And when you cry, your tears must fall on the egg."  
He nodded and held out his hands. Almost gently she drew her ritual knife over his skin and pressed the egg into his hand. When he held it securely, she started mumbling quietly and surprisingly deep in witch language. Sam blanked out her voice and thought of Franz.  
He couldn't remember where and how and when they had first met, but they had probably only been four or five, probably it had been a summer in Sunplains and probably Franz had taken the lead immediately.  
"Who is it you mourn for?" Romy whispered.  
"Franz... Franz-Ludwig Maximilian Bellcastle, Prince of Sunplains," Sam whispered back smothered. He thought of the secrets they had shared, all the childish nonsense.  
"Who is it you mourn for?"  
He thought about how much he had considered Benedikt and Desiree as his own siblings, how Franz had once intervened when Sylvia scolded Ginevra.  
"Who is it you mourn for?"  
He thought of how he himself became a squire and Franz had to watch, how Franz made the remark that Sam was oh so important as crown prince and knight. The remark had hurt him at the time, but Franz, as one of many younger children, must have suffered more from his own insignificance than Sam had been aware back then.  
"Who is it you mourn for?"  
He thought of the intimacies they had shared and the crack it had caused. He had missed Franz, his best friend, and had thrown himself into his education.  
"Who is it you mourn for?"  
He thought of their reunion in Darkmoore. Regretted that their new-found friendship never again became as warm and loving as before, and only now did he recognize the taste of despair that had been inherent to it all.  
Romy touched his hand gently and he looked up. She tapped the blade three times against the wet shell of the egg and then signalled him to put the egg in a small hole.  
"Who is it you're memorializing?"  
"Franz-Ludwig Maximilian Bellcastle, Prince of Sunplains," he whispered and laid the egg in the cold earth. Together they covered it with earth and then Romy drew the knife over the palm of her hand; her blood dripped onto the small hill of loose earth. She gave a harsh command and then it cracked softly.  
Fascinated, Sam watched as the ground began to quake as it continued to crunch and rustle strangely. In the faint glimmer of the witch's light, a plant emerged from the ground, with deep green leaves rustling and crackling. The plant grew until it reached about knee height, then the rustling ceased, but in return stems sprouted on different axes of shoots, bearing hanging calyxes; it took Sam a moment to realise that the flowers were not black but dark red. The urge to touch the blossoms was so strong that he gave in to it.  
_...Franz... Franz...Franz...  
_The soft whisper sent a shiver down Sam's spine and he flinched back. Romy looked at him scrutinizing.  
"The flower whispers his name," he breathed heavily and she nodded.  
"A living tombstone. It is called witchblood because according to legend it first grew on the grave of a witch who died violently."  
He nodded absently and stroked the velvety calyx again with his fingertips.  
_...Franz... Franz... Franz...  
_"Thank you," Sam whispered, looking at Romy. The hint of a sad smile lay on her face and then she bent over to kiss him on the tear-stained cheek.  
  
"What exactly are you doing?" Gerald's voice, powerful and at the same time worried, made Sam plump down on his butt in shock. Romy straightened up and amplified the witch's light, but while Sam picked himself up and searched for explanatory words, Gerald had already discovered the witchblood. A strange expression flitted across his face and then he bent over to touch one of the blossoms.  
_...Franz... Franz... Franz...  
_"Why..." with a frozen expression he turned to Sam and Romy, "why does it whisper Franz's name?"  
Sam took a hissing breath and paused as Romy held him by his upper arm.  
"This is a memorial flower, Sam. What do you know about Franz's whereabouts?" Gerald wanted to know sharply.  
"Dad..." He sounded tortured and knew that- no matter what they said now- it would be a construct of lies on shaky feet.  
"Why did you create a memorial flower for Franz, Samson?"  
Romy squeezed his arm while he sniffed. "Franz is dead."  
"He was taken by a dragon, so how do you know about it?" Gerald's tone was still unusually sharp, Sam felt like a child.  
"He was taken to Balius to marry Romy's younger sister, Ellie. He refused and committed suicide yesterday," he said quietly and with a downcast stare. As he raised his gaze, he saw on his father's face a whole range of barely concealed emotions.  
"Why...?" The question had so many possible meanings, but Sam understood: _Why didn't you do anything?_ He felt his lower lip tremble and despite Romy's almost painful grip on his arm, it burst out of him.  
"I killed the dragon because I believed he had kidnapped a princess. The dragon was Antonidas, Romy's father, and-"  
"He was mad." Romy interrupted him softly and controlled. "He paid for the gift of the dragon shape with his sanity. He kidnapped Franz and lured Sam because he wanted good men for his daughters."  
Gerald frowned minimally, but Sam went on:  
"I killed the Prince Consort of Darkmoore-"  
"It was a misunderstanding!"  
"- and married Romy so as not to give Ruby any reason to declare war." Despite the thick jacket, Romy's fingernails were drilling into his arm.  
"You married me because I asked you to."  
"I married you because I had no other choice," he corrected her. Before she could say more, Gerald said low:  
"Kidnapping of a prince, capture and imprisonment of two princes of different nations, forcing a marriage and disregarding the diplomatic agreements of the King's Council..."  
"Gerald..."  
"Franziska and Ludwig will not hesitate to answer these charges."  
"Gerald!"  
"Father! You don't know what-"  
But Gerald cut them off with a harsh gesture and sparkled angrily at Romy. "Darkmoore's missteps are too great to turn a blind eye. If it were just Sam alone, yes, but not if my best friend's son paid with his life."  
"Father, no! You can't just bring _war_ against Darkmoore! Not even joined with Sunplains!"  
"And why not? Shall we simply accept this insult?"  
"I paid for my mistake," Sam said firmly, and now it was he who touched Romy's arm.  
"Mistake!" Romy snorted. "_My father_ paid for his mistake, yes, but Whitehill has no reason to attack Darkmoore."  
"An army doesn't have to wear my banner to host my men." Gerald spat the words right at her feet. "The son of the man I call a brother died in captivity. Do you really think I'd twiddle my thumbs and watch?"  
"You don't know what you're saying, father," Sam said softly, but neither Gerald nor Romy seemed to hear him. She didn't use magic, but still seemed to grow taller and suddenly seemed dangerous.  
"Are you aware of when there was the last time a war against witches in the Eastern Kingdoms? Are you aware of who ultimately banished the Empire? Do you realize what a war means?"  
Gerald raised his chin.  
"If you want to fight a war, go against Redriver, you'd win it. But if you send out your knights against Darkmoore, you'll send your sons to their death, too," Romy continued coldly, and in a smooth movement she placed herself half in front of Sam. "And I will not let that happen. I love your son and I will protect him even if it costs the lives of a few others."  
The threat was very clear. Gerald looked at her carefully and surprised Sam wanted to step forward, to stand next to Romy and face her, but she stretched out an arm to stop him. Her hand shimmered in a green light.  
"You can't just kill my father," he said slowly.  
"I can. And I will if he plans to send you to certain death."  
"You're a healer witch."  
"I can't heal you when a witch's magic rips you apart." Her voice was strained to the breaking point and she began to tremble, although she didn't take her eyes off Gerald. His disbelieving rage seemed to dry up in sight of the battle-ready witch before him. The scent of Romy's magic crept into Sam's nose, his skin was tingling and he grabbed her by the arm.  
"Romy, please."  
"We'll talk it over calmly in the morning," Gerald said with as much dignity as possible and withdrew with now visible discomfort.  
Sam turned to Romy and almost flinched. Her face was a rigid mask of disgust, her eyes glowing greenish like her hands.  
"You are mine," she said trembling. "No one's going to take you away from me."  
"Romy, you're not in control of yourself!"  
Her nostrils flared, her lower lip trembled. He was afraid of her, but he knew she wouldn't hurt him. _I love your son and I will protect him._  
"Romy, dear..." Gently he put his trembling fingers against her cheek. "Dear, you don't have to protect me."  
She closed her eyes and nestled herself in his touch, the green glow of her power extinguished. Hesitantly, he took her in his arms and tried to transfer the calmness that her scent gave him to her.  
"I am the one who protects you, remember?"  
She sank into herself. As a squire, he had believed that protecting the weak was a testament to his strength. Now he realized that wasn't true. The cold tip of her nose brushed against his cheek and then she looked at him, again the proud strong witch she was.  
"You should go to bed," he said softly and let her go.  
"And what about you?" she asked softly back.  
"I... I think I need a walk. Don't wait for me."  
"I will always wait for you."

~

Leaning against the damp and cold pinnacles of the battlements, Sam rubbed his face, his hands still covered in blood and dirt. He felt as if his life had fallen apart so thoroughly that he didn't know how to fix it.  
"Sam?" a soft voice asked cautiously. He flinched.  
"Ginny! What are you doing here?"  
Under her coat the hem of a nightgown peeked out, but nevertheless she stood beside him. "I saw a light in the garden... and I saw you arguing. What happened?"  
"We created a living tombstone and Dad surprised us."  
"A living tombstone?" Ginevra looked at him with fascination and disbelief, and only now did he realize that Gerald had seemed to know exactly what he was looking at. "For whom?" Ginevra grabbed his arm, suddenly fear in her eyes. "Have you lost a baby?"  
Irritated by this assumption, he shook his head. "No. A friend died."  
Ginevra sighed in relief and then laughed almost desperately. "I'm sorry. I have nothing else on my mind right now."  
"Because it won't work?" he asked cautiously and she shook her head.  
"No. I am pregnant. But don't tell anyone, okay? Gavin's the only one who knows."  
"Oh, okay, yeah. Congratulations." He lovingly kissed her on the temple and she smiled up at him.  
"Then would you please stop lying to me? To all of us?"  
"Excuse me?" Confused, he blinked at her and her smile disappeared.  
"You're such a bad actor, it's almost disgusting, Sam. I mean, there's obviously no one in this family who _doesn't_ pretend but you..."  
"What do you mean?"  
"You don't love Romy at all, Sam, and that's pretty obvious. Why did you marry her?" Ginevra's cool statement unsettled him.  
"Politics," he said slowly. Was he really that bad?  
"And the truth?"  
"Politics," he repeated emphatically, but since she only raised one eyebrow in doubt, he added: "I had no choice, Ginny, believe me."  
She snorted. "I like Romy, as a person, I mean. But she tricked you, right?" Uneasily he licked his lips. Screaming the truth in all directions was not a good idea, so he sighed.  
"Something like that."  
"A witch thing?"  
He nodded and now she sighed.  
"Mum hit the roof when she read that you were courting a witch. And somehow I couldn't quite picture it, especially since you didn't write it yourself."  
"I was only courting her if you want to call lessons in economics and politics that sort of thing," he said softly. "She got me to help her- with a witch thing - and magically bound me to her. In the end, I had no choice but to marry her."  
Ginevra nodded thoughtfully. "You don't love her."  
"No."  
"But she loves you." He said nothing about it and so Ginevra continued: "You can see it in her eyes, in her smile. Sometimes you can tell that you must like her, but then..."  
"She hurt me, Ginny." Sam's voice was little more than a whisper and immediately she stiffened.  
"Sam..."  
"This is between her and me, don't interfere. We'll work it out."  
"By pretending to be a happy couple?" Doubtfully she looked at him and he sighed.  
"Are you really happy with Gavin?"  
She immediately lowered her eyes. "I tried, you know, I tried to feel something for him, but..." She sighed deeply. "He told me about Owen. Then I knew why he doesn't... I mean, I was afraid he was really sick, you know, but this... We're friends. I like him. But we're not to each other what we need."  
"On the surface, you seem cute together," Sam remarked neutrally.  
"I know. Like I said, we're friends. And I really think he cares about me, but he'll never be happy without this other guy, even a kid won't change that."  
"Could you live with _this other guy_ staying at court with you?"  
"If it makes him happy, yes," she said straightaway. "I have always known that the likelihood of having a happy marriage is almost non-existent for me as a princess, but," her voice began to tremble, "you cannot believe how painful it is to see the despair in his eyes when nature says the moment is favourable. It's almost a miracle that we managed to have a child so quickly."  
Sam's heart clenched when he saw his little sister so unhappy, as she wiped her sleeve over her eyes and sniffed suppressed.  
"I don't want to end up like Mum and Dad. I don't want you and Romy to end up like Mum and Dad. And I wish at least Gordon could be free."  
"Mum and Dad-"  
"Let's not talk about Mum and Dad, please. Otherwise I'll scream, and I want to do even less than cry."  
"O-okay..."  
She breathed shakily. "Gordon was so incredibly relieved when we heard you were coming home with a wife. He's no more a real prince than Romy is a real princess, which is probably why they get along so well. He looks up to you, Sam, to your knighthood and your adventures, but he probably thanks the Great Mother every night for not having to take your place in the inheritance."  
Sam wasn't just taken by surprise, he was devastated. He had a certain knowledge of human nature, but he never thought his family members were hiding behind facades - although he had tried to do so himself. Apparently without success.  
"Am I really such a bad actor?" he asked after a moment of tense silence.  
"Terribly bad," was the dry reply. "Why did you pretend at all?"  
He sighed. "Because you all believed we married for love, didn't you?"  
"Yeah, I know, but... You've never seen a couple in love before?"  
"It's okay, I got it."  
"Your argument of a few days ago was like official confirmation." Ginevra took his hand. "You're only twenty-six and not yet three months married, but still you sounded as bitter as Mum sometimes does."  
He pulled a wry face.  
"You should talk to her."  
"Talking isn't exactly Romy's strong suit."  
"Maybe, but as bad as you get along, I doubt you'll bring a child into this world." Unfortunately, she was right.  
"Please don't get involved, Ginny, okay? I know you mean well, but it's no use. This is our problem."  
She looked at him with doubt. "All right. But don't think I won't get her if she hurts you again."  
That brought a crooked smile to his face. "Go to bed, wildcat. A cold is the last thing you need right now."  
With a sigh she embraced him. "I love you, Sir Silly."  
"I love you too, wildcat."

~

Ginevra hadn't been gone for long when steps approached again. It was Gerald who stood silently beside Sam at the battlements, gazing over the sleeping Feather Springs with him.  
"Tell me the truth," Gerald finally asked Sam.  
"About what?"  
"About you. Romy. Franz."  
"What do you know about witches? You were courting one, after all."  
"There's a ritual of growing up for which they need a man. Ruby hinted enough that I gave it up."  
Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Ruby lured me to Darkmoore with the rumor that her daughter had been kidnapped by a dragon. I killed the dragon and woke up in the dungeon. Romy magically bound me and forced me to participate in the ritual. Franz was just as much a prisoner to Ellie."  
"Why did you marry her afterwards?"  
"Because I had no choice. The ritual..." He had no words and realized that he couldn't talk about it in detail. "I couldn't have gone back home otherwise. Romy would have fallen victim to her sisters' power struggle."  
Gerald just nodded. "Are you even married? Anyone can put a ring on."  
"Not according to our laws, no. Under theirs, though, we are."  
"Is the marriage consummated?"  
"Yes."  
"Are you sleeping with each other?"  
"No." Sam had the feeling that they were not talking to each other as father and son, but from man to man - it was a good feeling and suppressed the childlike helplessness he had felt earlier in the argument. "You're not really planning on declaring war on Darkmoore, are you?"  
"No. No, forgive me, it was... a stupid emotional reaction and unworthy of a king." Gerald sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. "Franziska has been sick non-stop since Franz disappeared. In her last letter she said she is preparing to pass on the crown while she still can. What shall I tell her now?"  
"Nothing," Sam simply said, even though it hurt. "Nothing."  
He got a wry look.  
"The ritual often ends with the witch sacrificing the man. Franz should have been sacrificed and would have died anyway. We knew that. I knew it, and still I couldn't do anything about it." Unintentionally tears came to his eyes. "Franz managed to resist the magic ban and killed himself instead of being sacrificed. I don't think I could have done that."  
"But you obviously went through the ritual unscathed."  
"Because Romy is a very different witch compared to her sister."  
"And she actually seems to have feelings for you. Unlike you."  
"Are you going to rub my bad acting skills in my face one by one now?" Sam asked with a sigh and a faint smile flashed across Gerald's face.  
"I saw you talking to Ginny. She was terribly upset about it beforehand."  
"Thank you," Sam muttered dryly.  
"Make an effort," Gerald then said seriously. "Make an effort so you won't end up like your mother and me."  
Insecure Sam looked at his father, who seemed extremely unhappy.  
"Your mother has an incredibly difficult character and if she wasn't so politically skilled, I'd have sent her away long ago."  
This surprised Sam very much and the part of him that still looked at his parents with children's eyes cringed with pain. "I thought you were friends. A team."  
"You, Sam, and your siblings are the best thing that could have happened to me. We pulled ourselves together for you, for the public." Gerald raised a finger when Sam wanted to say something. "But representing unity and pretending to love are two completely different things."  
Sam nodded uneasily.  
"Your mother and I made the mistake of making you our common ground. Don't make the same mistake and build a base that won't collapse once three of four children are gone." Gerald had always been good at giving useful advice, but realizing they came from his own mistakes was hard.  
Sam looked at him and nodded. "I'll do my best, Dad."  
"Good." Gerald patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave.  
Sam looked after him, before staring again at the sleeping city. The fire in the cathedral tower flickered and then he too turned away.

When Sam entered the bedroom, he paused. Romy was lying crosswise in bed with a book beside her and a flickering witch light above her. She really had wanted to wait for him. To talk? Or just on principle? He put the book on her bedside table and then climbed into bed. Hesitantly he stroked a strand from her face and under the touch she sighed softly.  
How hard was it for Gerald to admit his mistakes not only to himself but also to his son? How much did it hurt to see his own son risk making the same mistakes?  
_I'd like a little more attention._ Romy might be a disaster as a princess, but he was no better as a husband, considering that all he had thought about the last few weeks were council meetings, paperwork and his training.  
"I'm sorry. I'll try harder," he whispered, touching her cheek gently again and then reaching up to extinguish the witch's light.


	30. Having a dragon in the family does have advantages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought things would start to get better...

"This," Sylvia said, "is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen."   
Sam looked up. Sylvia stood in the doorway with something in her hand, probably a letter, and took a motherly-horrified look around.   
"What? Girls who do each others' hair?" Gordon wanted to know disinterested.   
"Hey!" Sam's protest was more a formality - he probably couldn't get out of it, because after all Romy was sitting in front of him on a thick pillow while he braided her hair into a completely new and suddenly ultra-fashionable hairstyle. Well, and Ginevra sat behind him in an armchair and in turn wove his hair into many little braids.   
"Come on, your attempt to compensate for the lack of body hair is cute, really." From the table where Gordon and Gavin were playing some game of cards and dice, Gordon threw a grin at Sam.   
"This is not an attempt at compensation," Sam explained with dignity. "But I certainly don't want to mess with my precious wife who likes my hair the way it is."   
Matching this, Romy- who was reading- gave a short growl.   
"You'll come to the realization that this is actually healthier," Gavin now assured Gordon.   
"You're henpecked, that's all."   
Sam and Gavin snorted. Ginevra had just started to make a comment as well when Sylvia cleared her throat angrily.   
"I'd like to speak to my daughters."   
For three heartbeats there was no irritated reaction at all, then Gordon and Gavin jumped up at the same time while Sam got up from his stool and offered Romy a hand.   
"Sit still, Sammy." Gordon smiled.   
"Romy stays seated," Ginevra said in a tone that had a bad premonition. Sam glanced over his shoulder - Romy seemed anything but happy, but nodded at him.

Outside the door, Sam gave Gordon a not entirely serious punch in the shoulder and received - due to Gordon's aiming point being further down because of the difference in height - a punch in the ribs.   
"Come on, princess, don't be shy."   
"Shy? Why?"   
"You do look ridiculous, Sam." Gavin remarked critically.   
"Why? In the old days, knights used to wear their hair like this."   
"In dozens of little braids?" Doubtfully, Gavin looked at him.   
"Yes. As padding under the armour."   
"Urgh." Gordon made uncomfortable and stroked his fashionably short hair.   
"Would suit you," Sam remarked to his little brother. "And then we're gonna put blue ribbons on the end to match your dress."   
"I'll put _you_ in a dress right now!"   
The two wrestled with each other in the corridor until Gavin skilfully intervened. "Hey, hey, hey, there are children to come out." He blocked Gordon's leg raised to the kick.   
"Exactly." Sam straightened his shirt and grinned. "If not, _you_'ll be my heir." Gordon immediately raised his hands surrendering and took a step back.   
"No way. Someone else can do the paperwork."   
Sam made a face. "Thank you. I'm gonna go take care of it."   
"Or you can come down to the barracks with me," Gavin suggested, winking at him.   
"You just want to ogle the handsome knights."   
Gavin smiled, Gordon sighed.   
"Just go into a room somewhere."   
"Seriously?"   
"Sorry, Gordon, but Sam's just not my type."   
"Thank the Great Mother," Sam murmured. The _"siblings"_ kept such things to themselves, but Gordon still made a big joke out of everything.   
"We see for breakfast?" Gordon then asked straightaway and Sam shrugged.   
"If the ladies don't kill each other in there..."

~

Sam raised his gaze as Romy entered and closed the door with a sigh behind her.   
"Your mother hates me."   
"I don't think she really does."   
With her hands resting on her hips, Romy stopped in front of his desk. "You want to know what I've been listening to for hours?" He could roughly guess, but she was already beginning to tell the story with annoyance. Since Sam had decided to try harder regarding their relationship, he stood up and leaned against the side of the desk, the documents in his back, so she could see that he was listening to her. She had wanted more attention and he was working on it. No more paperwork at mealtimes, joint visits to the city or rides in the countryside, evening tea-time conversations about said paperwork or her daily chores.   
Only four weeks had passed, but they had almost regained the friendship-like status they had achieved before the ritual.

"She hates me." After almost twenty minutes of lamenting, Romy let herself fall on a sofa.   
"You know, there's an appropriate substitute word for mothers-in-law."   
"Oh, yeah?"   
"Monster-in-law."   
"Dragon-in-law, more likely."   
Sam snorted. "The way you cherish dragons, that's more of a good thing."   
"Actually, yes." She sighed. "But you are a dragon, so you must descend from one."   
"_You_ made me one."   
"We don't have to tell anyone." A faint smile accompanied her somehow sad glance and he went over to her to sit on the other end of the sofa. To change the subject, he asked:   
"How are your lessons going?"   
"Good."   
"Just good?"   
She shrugged. "Most teachers think I'm crazy. Or... stupid, I guess." For a tiny moment she seemed unhappy, but the impression disappeared so quickly that Sam wasn't quite sure. "That old man who Gordon only calls uncle is nice. He sets a topic and lets Gordon speak on it. He's doing a good job. Gordon, I mean."   
Sam simply nodded.   
"I like him. Were you like him when you were younger?"   
"No, not really. Gordon's got a big mouth and he's cheeky and cocky and... well. I was more... hmm. Shy is the wrong word." It was hard to find a suitable word for oneself. But Romy looked at him waiting.   
"Quiet," he finally said. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment and gave her a smile that was, in fact, rather shy. "My mother shows her negative feelings very openly, and I was rather emotional about everything. I tried to hide it."   
"Why?"   
"Boys don't cry. A squire certainly not, and princes only when it's appropriate."   
Sceptically, Romy raised an eyebrow.   
"I hid behind my armor and my knightly virtues. I was proud of it and at the same time felt guilty about it. And yet... Maybe just for that? I don't know. I like the part of the heroic knight. I like being a shining prince. At least temporarily. I mean, I also like being able to be just _me_ with the others." He paused. "I think Darkmoore has stripped me to the bone and I'm trying to put myself back together. Does that make any sense?"   
She nodded silently, although there was some confusion in her eyes. "You said it yourself, time changes us."   
"Definitely."

They remained silent for a moment and Romy curled up halfway on the sofa before quietly saying: "I wish I had had such a good relationship with my sisters."   
"What was the problem?" Sam asked, and she sighed.   
"Jocelyn and I were inseparable until her magic wakened. Suddenly I was very lonely because Ellie and I had never been friends and Theresa was just too young. When my own magic awoke - I was nine - Grandma suddenly sent Jonas to me. She died soon after, and Mother became Queen, and everything changed." She paused for a moment, thoughtful, lost in herself and strangely vulnerable. "I tried really hard to be a good princess. Tried to remember all the horrible stuff, but when I could answer mother's witch questions to Jocelyn and Lyandra, she told me to just be a witch. Sure, the courtly manners and all, I still had to learn, but otherwise, she just let me study."   
Sam was letting her talk.   
"I don't really know why I've been so cut off from the others... or everything. Lyandra was there for me, but when Jocelyn killed her... I don't know. Mother wasn't always as... _freaky_ as she is now. She was very attached to Lyandra, I think." Again she paused and then gave him a quick glance. "You know, a witch must reach a certain level of physical, mental and magical maturity before she can perform her ritual. When Jocelyn and Ellie started their preparations practically simultaneously, it made me think. Nobody ever explained it all to me, and when they both failed on the first try... I wanted to do better, but I had no idea where to look for a suitable knight."   
"And then your mother made sure that I practically fell at your feet," Sam remarked with soft sarcasm and she nodded thoughtfully.   
"Besides the preparations, I had no idea what to do with you."   
"Yes, I noticed that."   
She blushed and looked away. "That's not what I mean. But I understand now why witches need a knight, the different levels of this statement. I... I needed you to grow." That sounded a little strange, but he understood what she was trying to say and so he gave her an encouraging smile.   
"Don't think this personal growth was one-sided."   
"No," she agreed with him and smiled back shyly.

~

The carriage of Ginevra and Gavin had been on its way for a while, but Sam and Gordon were still standing outside on the stairs, discussing a few things with Commander Howard and some of the higher-ranking knights, when a bright red painted carriage rolled into the yard.   
"Hmm? The Cherrywoods? Lord Stephan is already here," Gordon muttered as the carriage made a turn and stopped at the foot of the stairs. Howard bowed and hurried down to open the carriage door himself.   
"The lord has family," Sam said to Gordon, and swallowed the rest of the sentence as he saw the look on Gordon's face. Howard had helped Lady Cherrywood get out of the carriage and was now holding the delicate hand of a girl who was smiling shyly.   
"Pretty," Sam noticed and watched with amusement as Gordon swallowed. The girl- Margary? Margareth?- smoothed her skirt, causing the somewhat misshapen travelling cape to slide open. Gordon hissed softly and Sam couldn't suppress a grin - in a few years this girl would be more than just _pretty_.   
"You like her, hmm?" He nudged Gordon, who muttered something incomprehensible and then put on an idiotic smile when Lady Cherrywood and her daughter looked up at them.

A lot of polite chatter later - which had taken place exclusively between Sam and Lady Cherrywood, because the teenagers were alternately more occupied with staring and blushing - Sam dragged his little brother behind him to the bathrooms.   
"Dude, you need a lot of cold water right now. Or a nice hand. But stop staring around, you haven't even spoken to her."   
"But Sam, did you see her eyes?"   
"Yes, both pairs. Great Mother, Margareth is staying here all summer."   
"Why?"   
Sam sighed deeply. "Wonder why? Dad and Lord Stephan want to see if you'll get along."   
Gordon stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"   
"You heard me."   
"I... I'm supposed to..."   
"No. Only if you get along. Dad's learning from his mistakes, you know?"   
"Oh. Oh!" Again Gordon blushed deeply, but at least he started moving again.   
As the door to the bathrooms behind them fell shut, he asked softly:   
"Sam, how do you court a woman?"   
His first answer - that Margareth certainly did not yet pass for a woman - he denied himself. As well as the remark that he himself didn't know for sure. Instead, he said as seriously as possible:   
"Lesson one: A like attention."

~

"Could you please explain why you've been looking at me so angrily all evening?", Sam asked slightly annoyed after they entered their rooms.   
"This girl is here because of Gordon and you have nothing better to do than flirt with her!"   
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Flirting? Me? With Margareth? Excuse me, but you just said it yourself: she's here for Gordon's sake. I'm already married."   
Romy made a face. "And yet you kept staring at her neckline the whole time."   
"Admittedly, that was a very nice neckline, but I was just trying to keep the two of them talking." He wanted to say more, but instead looked at Romy's whole posture and then sighed deeply. "Oh, Great Mother, you are jealous of a _child_?"   
She blushed and turned away. "You could- oh. The door is open." The connecting door to her apartment was actually a little open - today they were married for exactly three months.   
"Yes, the door is open," Sam said, who had already noticed in the morning.   
"Why didn't you say anything?" she asked without turning around.   
"What was I supposed to say?"   
Instead of an answer, she pushed the door open completely and went on an exploratory tour.

When she returned, there was no sign of jealousy. Instead, she seemed nervous.   
"Would you... do you want... should... I mean..."   
At her stuttering he raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" He was still not sure if this _"I love your son"_ was really serious or not, she had said absolutely nothing to him, but now she looked as if she was afraid of being thrown out.   
"Do you like the rooms?" he wanted to know when she didn't say anything else.   
She nodded. "Yes, but..."   
"But...?"   
"I'd like to stay here, if you don't mind. I like being near you and I feel safe when you're there and... and I... it feels good to just hear you breathing when I wake up at night," she finally explained quietly, looking down at the floor. Surprised, he looked at her, then cleared his throat.   
"What's mine is yours." He made an inviting gesture which she probably didn't see.   
"Thanks, Sam," she whispered, and then she hurried past him towards the bathroom. Irritated, he looked after her, but since she didn't come back, he finally shrugged and turned to his paperwork.

~

He only looked up from his documents again when she finally stepped beside his desk in her nightgown.   
"Hmm?" he asked, half staring at the provisional report on the weather-related road damage.   
"I wanted to say good night."   
"Good night, dear."   
"No good night kiss?" Something in her tone was strange, but he got up obediently and kissed her on the cheek.   
"Good night, dear."   
Suddenly she turned bright red. "A real one..." she whispered, barely audible. He raised an eyebrow and blinked, then an amused smile crept onto his lips.   
"Dear, I'm your husband. If you want a kiss, just take one." The intensity of the following kiss surprised him and he carefully held her at the waist. From her tension he read that she wanted more than just a kiss and had no idea how to approach it.   
"You know," he finally muttered as she leaned back to take a breath, "perhaps you should have a longer talk with Marian."   
She frowned questioningly. "Why?"   
"About how to seduce a man." For this he got a punch on the chest and he grinned.   
"Like you know better."   
"How to seduce a man? Oh, I think I can handle that by now."   
The answer was a second punch.   
"I'm not into spanking."   
"Then what do you like?"   
Being sure that every answer related to his experience with Owen was definitely a wrong one, he implied a shrug.   
"I don't know." He could feel his cheeks getting hot. "Maybe we should just search for an answer..."   
Her cheeks were burning as well when she nodded.

The kisses were gentle, as if the other could break at any moment. Romy pulled the ribbon out of his hair and buried a hand in it, he pulled her close and gently caressed her breasts through the nightgown. She untied the lacing from his shirt, he let one hand slide to her backside and kissed her neck. Her hands slid across his chest and stomach, but when they reached his hips, everything in him tensed up. She noticed it and moved across his back instead, he could feel her following the lines of his muscles through the shirt. She pulled the shirt out of his pants and her fingertips on the bare skin gave him goose bumps- he wasn't sure if he liked her touch or not.   
He definitely didn't like her hands on his butt and almost unconsciously he pushed her away. Immediately the pain of rejection was visible on her face, which surprisingly touched him more than he had thought. Gently he put one hand on her cheek and wrapped the other arm around her.   
"Just keep your hands higher up, okay?" he whispered in her ear and she nodded hurriedly before turning her head and kissing his neck.   
He shivered. "Slow..." She kissed him on the mouth again and sighed comfortably into it seconds later as he stroked her nipple with his thumb. He untied the lacing of her nightgown and had already shoved it halfway off her shoulders when a magical breeze slipped over him. It was not Romy's magic, but before he could say anything about it, she collapsed in his arms.   
"Romy?" Insecure, he held her and sucked in the air as blood ran from her nose. "Romy?!" He pressed her against his body. **"Guards!"**

~

"Sam...?" Romy lifted her head from his chest and he pulled her back into his arms while half asleep. "What..." She squealed in fright. _"Oliver?"_   
"Good morning, Your Highness."   
"What are you doing in our bedroom?"   
"Guarding us, what else?" Sam murmured and rubbed his eyes. Romy looked at him in irritation, then frowned.   
"Oliver, please see that all security precautions are reset to the usual standard." She lifted a finger as Sam took a breath. "There is no danger."   
"As you wish, Princess." Oliver nodded and stomped out.   
"Dear, you just collapsed yesterday after-" He broke off at her gaze.   
"Mother is dead. It was the eruption of her violent death that you felt," Romy said very quietly, looking at her hands.   
"Was it Ellie?"   
"I don't know. But..." She paused, played with a crease in her nightgown and made a face. Sam gave her the time she needed. Because of the incident he had thrown the entire castle, perhaps even the town, into a state of agitation and he was deeply relieved that it had not been an attack.   
Though his mother-in-law's death was not exactly good news.

"I want to speak to Jocelyn." When Romy broke the silence, there was determination in her eyes and voice. "And I want to pay my last respects to Mother, to be present at the old rites." Sam frowned skeptically and stretched.   
"And how are you gonna do that? After weeks of rain, the roads are a complete disaster."   
She shook her head. "This is taking too long. I've never used a teleportation spell before and I'm not gonna be able to do it this fast without preparation, but... we can fly."   
"Fly?" He looked at her with irritation.   
"You're a dragon, Sam."   
"I..." He blinked at her serious pale face. "I have no idea if I can even fly. Even _if_... a dragon that size right over the city will cause a panic and... oh, Great Mother." Horror was spreading through him. "This is magic. I will lose my claim to my inheritance!"   
"Sam. Your father knows you're a dragon," Romy said calmly.   
_"What?"_ He nearly choked on the word.   
"I told him. Not the whole truth, of course, but he nodded it off. To him, the dragon is not in your being, but... more in the necklace." This was a very pitiful attempt at an explanation and Sam shook his head.   
"No. I can't just take off from the castle square and disappear. I..." He was in search of words.   
"You can, hurog-zar keh." She said simply.   
"I want to rule this kingdom someday, Romy, and I can't do it if the people are afraid of me." How could he make her understand? Outside of Darkmoore, dragons - as well as witches - were not very popular. She sighed and started to answer, but then she clapped her hand over her mouth.   
"Isaac!"   
"What?"   
"Oh Great Mother Earth!" She almost fell out of bed in her haste and stormed out. Amazed, Sam rushed after her. In the dressing room, she tore her nightgown over her head to get dressed.   
"What's the matter?"   
"Isaac is dying."

~

Only when they ran through the corridors of the castle Sam managed to speak again in amazement.   
"Can I get an explanation?"   
"Nobody thought to take off mother's ring from Isaac," Romy said pressed. "Her violent death sent out shock waves and probably no one ever explained to him how a man could properly respond to the ring's signals."   
"And that means?" Sam wanted to know, and just caught himself when he tripped over a step. "I mean, did that shock wave rip his balls off?"   
"Then he would already be dead. No..." Romy gasped for air, but kept running.   
Sam shuddered and was extremely happy to have only a ring on his finger.

Isaac's chamber was so small that even Sam's marriage bed wouldn't fit in, he was ashamed to admit. Isaac himself lay white as chalk on the bed, the blanket soaked with blood over his crotch. Romy pulled the blanket aside, picked up her small ritual knife and cut open Isaac's sleeping pants without hesitation.   
"Ugh... Don't look. Just put your hand on my neck, I'm gonna need your strength."   
"O-okay..." The way she said it, he didn't want to look at all, instead he looked at Isaac's pale face as he placed a hand on Romy's skin. Her magic flickered across him and sucked on him. It was a strangely tender touch, like a magic kiss that wanted to leave a hickey.

It could have lasted minutes or hours, Sam couldn't have said it because he couldn't move. Every now and then Isaac would moan softly or Romy would make a kind of sigh. When she finally cut off contact with Sam on her own, he swayed.   
"Please get me some warm water and some towels, I need to look at it in a clean state," she murmured coarsely. Her bloody fingers left a streak on her forehead as she wiped a strand of hair from her eye. Sam nodded silently and hurried to the barracks kitchen where he got a questioning look but wasn't asked any questions. Back in Isaac's chamber, Romy sat beside the bed, looking as if she would fall unconscious at any moment.   
"Are you sure you can do more?" he asked quietly. Isaac's hand twitched.   
"I have at least to see what it looks like now," she said softly and visibly swallowed her protest as Sam helped her wash Isaac. The insides of his thighs would probably have a nice network of scars, as would the skin around his genitals - but at least they were still there.   
"So?" Sam then asked cautiously.   
"If the self-healing goes well, a healer can work on the scars later." Romy grimaced a little tortured. "I think I've gotten him to the point where he can use his most precious asset, but I'm afraid he'll never have children."   
"I hardly think that's a problem if the alternative is death," Sam remarked dryly and then kissed her on the crown while standing up. "You saved his life. You were great." Her tired smile didn't reach her eyes. Then she grabbed him by the arm and pulled herself up by him before she buried her face on his shoulder. He held her for a moment and looked at Isaac.   
It wasn't fair how much his former squire had to suffer because of him.

~

"I've arranged everything, Sam, all you have to do is transform and take off."   
Sam rubbed his forehead. "You're crazy above all else, Romy," he muttered and didn't even sigh when she dragged him along by his sleeve. They had discussed more than a little about her plans all day yesterday and he could be as stubborn and hot-headed as he wanted to be - Romy was more stubborn.   
And so he stepped out onto the side yard of the castle, which was deserted as always. With the exception of Gerald, Sylvia, Gordon and a few guards.   
"I think this is a very silly idea," Sylvia remarked immediately, but fell silent under Sam's gaze.   
"I'm sorry, Gerald, but-"   
Gerald cut Romy off with a gesture. "The Great Mother gives and takes. Ruby gave you life, and you give her your thanks and your respect. That's all you can do now."   
Romy nodded anxiously.   
"I hate to say it, Sam, but I'm a little curious," Gerald then turned to his son, who sighed.   
"Curious? I've killed dragons, but being one myself is quite another matter."   
"Come on!" Gordon said to him, his eyes sparkled. Romy nodded to Sam and then waved the others to make room for him. Sam grimaced and then sucked in the cool air which tasted of rain and spring. Carefully he touched the magical necklace, whose faint magical touch had a calming effect.   
"Hurog," he whispered. His body stretched and expanded, it cracked and crunched, his vision blurred and for a moment he had the feeling of falling, excited shouts filled his ears. And then he blinked down to the square from above.   
"Woah!" Gordon said as he approached. Romy smiled strangely affectionately and reached out to stroke Sam's snout. As with the first transformation, he felt strange, as if he wasn't alone, as if the dragon form still held the remains of an ancient dragon soul. This small remnant was in some way also bound to Romy, to this little witch, and he had to protect her. From the little brat next to her, for example. Involuntarily Sam growled deeply and threateningly at Gordon, who retreated a few steps back in fright.   
"Hey, hey, I'm not a prey."   
Sam snorted and grey smoke curled up from his nostrils.   
"Sam...," Romy said admonishingly, but he had a very strange feeling in his stomach as he rose to full height, spread his wings and raised a claw in warning.   
"Sam! Look at me," Romy called to him and he fought with himself until he pushed the dragon aside and stumbled as a human.   
"Send the others away!" It was little more than a gasp and he had to hold on to Romy's shoulders.   
"What? Why?" She raised her hand as a sign to the others.   
"I'm not alone in there. And the dragon is damn possessive."   
Although she raised a brow in doubt, she left him standing to send the others away from the court.

The heavy door had not yet closed behind the last guard when it was already pushed open again. A pale but travel-ready Isaac stomped into the yard.   
"I'll come with you," he explained before Sam could get a word out in surprise.   
"No." Romy shook her head. "You stay here and stay in bed."   
"I'm going with you." The look Sam got made him shudder. "I have sworn to protect my knight and my witch, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."   
"Oh, Isaac, please. You can barely stand upright," Sam said pleading and shook his head while Romy crossed her arms in front of her chest.   
"You stay in bed, this is an order from a healer."   
"I'm coming with you," Isaac stubbornly repeated. "Somebody's gotta watch your back."   
"My goodness, we're not going to war. Romy just wants to be at her mother's funeral." Sam sighed deeply at Isaac's pout.   
"Besides," the young man then defiantly declared, "I don't have to stand. I will sit. On your back."   
"Hurog." Sam muttered and transformed again. Isaac took a trembling step back, but then held still with his teeth clenched as Sam moved his large head very close to him. He snorted smoke in Isaac's face and he snorted back.   
"I've already killed beasts like you."   
Romy giggled choked while the dragon was confused and Sam sighed internally.   
"Does that mean I can come?" Isaac wanted to know, while Romy just couldn't stop giggling. Sam snorted again and Isaac examined him critically.   
"You can't talk?"   
Sam shook his head.   
"Then you can't protest any further."   
Sam rumbled and got a pat on the nostrils, which the dragon didn't find very funny, Romy on the other hand even more so. And then she burst out laughing like Sam had never heard before when Isaac, in his usual enthusiasm, said:   
"Come on, Princess, let's go saddle the dragon."


	31. Negative happenings often make big waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Darkmoore, where Romy's sisters are waiting...

Even before Sam had landed in the largest courtyard of Blackwood Castle, Jocelyn, Erik and a few guards came running.  
"You shouldn't have come here," she said reproachfully as Romy slipped off the dragon's back with Isaac's help.  
"I want to talk to you, Jocelyn, and I want to greet Mother one last time," she coolly replied. She opened the buckle of the improvised leather harness around Sam's chest and he carefully pulled it from his shoulders with his claws. Jocelyn sighed deeply, then examined Isaac and Sam. The latter transformed back and moaned softly. After four days of almost non-stop flying, everything was hurting him.  
"And I thought you had gotten yourself a pet..." The slightly arrogant tone crept back into Jocelyn's voice. Before Romy, who was making a face, could say anything, Sam grumbled:  
"Said pet will tear your castle apart if it doesn't get something to eat and a hot bath."  
Erik chuckled softly, Romy's facial expression now changed to a slightly mocking smile and Jocelyn shook her head with a sigh.  
"Isaac, please instruct the servants to prepare Romy's rooms and have a light snack brought to me."  
"Of course, Your Highness." He bowed and stalked away, a little stiff-legged from hours of flying. Under Jocelyn's staring gaze Sam took a step forward so that he stood next to Romy, but internally he took a step back. Here she was in charge and she knew it as well as he did. There was nothing to be seen of the shy wife who patiently endured her bossy mother-in-law - and they had been here less than five minutes.  
"Come, let's talk."

~

Jocelyn and Erik both made a rather symbolically inviting gesture before Romy and Sam entered Jocelyn's apartment.  
"Please, sit down." They sat down on the sofas a bit uncomfortably and a tense silence arose until Romy asked:  
"How is Jonas?"  
Jocelyn sighed deeply. "He is sick. Well, he's mainly old, but the loss of Mother's magic has hit him hard."  
Romy seemed tormented and Sam reached for her hand in consolation.  
"I changed the stones in his necklace, but I am too unlike Grandma," Jocelyn continued, and Romy knew the deeper meaning of the words, for she nodded.  
"I want to see him."  
Jonas would probably die soon.  
"Of course. We will all discuss the final details of mother's funeral tomorrow and he will be there."  
Again there was a strange silence in which Sam looked at Erik for help, but he seemed just as tense. Finally Jocelyn said with a strange undertone:  
"Let's not bother the men with witch stuff."  
Romy nodded and stood up hurriedly, the two of them almost fleeing to an adjoining room.  
"You shouldn't have come." Erik got up and went to the dining table where he poured water from a carafe into simple cups for him and Sam.  
"Romy insisted," Sam said simply and took a cup.  
"Jocelyn would have insisted as well, believe me." Erik sighed.  
"Was it Ellie?"  
Erik nodded and chewed on his lip for a moment. "Ellie is... sort of a battle witch, if I understand correctly. Like Romy's a healer or Ruby was a seer. Her connection to Henry made it worse."  
"Why," Sam started after a sip of water, "didn't Jocelyn do anything? Send her away or kill her, like Lyandra before?"  
Erik looked at him for a moment before he said: "Jocelyn is pregnant."  
Sam just nodded; he knew enough about witches to know that Jocelyn probably couldn't do anything- either because she really couldn't, or because she would have endangered the baby.  
"How are _you_?" Sam then wanted to know, when his gaze fell on the fine black lines running across Erik's three fingers. The other knight shrugged his shoulders asymmetrical.  
"I'm okay for now, but there are good days and bad days." After a moment's hesitation, he added: "I don't think I'll live to be 40."  
"You're not that old after all."  
"I'm going to be thirty-six soon, Sam." So Erik was a few years older than Sam had thought- and the poison attack had hit him harder than he had thought.  
"You don't look like that," Sam said with a wry grin, which Erik honestly returned.  
"How's it going for you? I mean, I heard about the riot you caused."  
Sam snorted and felt himself blushing. "It wouldn't have been so bad if she had told me about it before."  
Erik laughed softly. "Jocelyn pretended it was an exam. I understood it when I made a joke about the fact that the lance almost ruined my knight's exam back at the time and I don't want to repeat it. She blushed like a tomato." Sam shook his head with a grin and then was quite relieved when a kitchen maid brought a plate of bread, lukewarm chicken and hot tea. His stomach growled and he started eating while Erik talked about trivial things. Eventually, however, he broke off and rubbed his face.  
"You're not interested in all that, are you?"  
"I'm listening to you, don't worry," Sam said honestly and Erik nodded thoughtfully.  
"I can't tell you anything about Franz. You'll have to talk to Owen." He seemed to suppress a sigh and Sam pushed the plate away with a bad feeling in his stomach. "The boy deserves respect."  
"Yes, he does." Sam agreed with him. "I couldn't have done it."  
"Me neither."

~

They had hurriedly pulled the protective sheets off the furniture and aired the rooms, the bed was freshly made. It felt strange to be here again and a shiver was running down Sam's back. Just as he let his fingertips slide across the table in the main room, the door opened. Romy entered, pale, strangely staggering and her gaze unfocused. Sam was both surprised and worried by her appearance and took a step towards her- just in time to catch her. Almost immediately she clawed at him, sobbing heavily and exuding uncontrolled magic. He had no idea what the problem was, but judging by the severity of her breakdown, Jocelyn's news must have been the last straw.  
And so Sam held her in his arms until the crying cramp ebbed down to a point where he could gently guide her to the sofa where she continued to sob and quiver until she fell asleep trembling with exhaustion. Carefully he pulled her to himself and she opened her eyes.  
"Don't go away."  
"No, dear, I just want to put you to bed..."  
"Don't go away, please."  
"I'm not leaving, I'm just putting you to bed." He got up and carried her into the bedroom, her fingers painfully clawed into his shoulder. She didn't let go when he put her on the mattress. "Romy, I'm just going to go to the bathroom and I'll be right there. I won't leave. I promise."  
She sighed and let herself sink into the pillows.

When he came back, she was already asleep again. When he covered her, she sighed again.  
"Don't go away..." she mumbled, "don't leave me alone..."  
"I'm here," he whispered at her temple and she sighed.  
_You must talk to me_, he thought, pulling his own blanket up under his chin.  
**We** _must talk_, he corrected himself half asleep when Romy's hand found his.

~

"How was your talk with Jocelyn?" Sam wanted to know carefully and slung the sword belt around his hips. Isaac had slept on the couch- unnoticed by Sam- and had left in a hurry after a tense breakfast, so only now was the time to talk.  
"Good," Romy said softly and slipped shivering into a coat. "I mean, we had a lot of ugly things to talk about, but overall I think it was good. The distance has done us good, I think." She looked up and gave Sam a sad smile. "I think we could be friends again."  
"Siblings are siblings, not friends. That's something completely different, a completely different basis," he remarked and she nodded unhappily.  
"You're probably right."  
He wanted to say something, comfort her somehow, but he knew he was one of the reasons for her mood, so he bit his lip.  
"We should go."  
He nodded simply.

The quietness in the huge castle was pleasant, there weren't guards standing at every corner, there weren't errand boys or servants scurrying around the whole time. And even as they approached the heart of the castle, it didn't get any worse. Darkmoore's style of government was traditionally very different from Whitehill, and after Sam had done a lot of paperwork for Whitehill, he would have loved to have had a look here.  
Perhaps, he thought, he could correspond with Jocelyn and-  
"Sam!"  
He turned and frowned. Isaac came running, half-armed and deadly pale.  
"What happened?" Sam asked.  
"You gotta get out of here!" Isaac wheezed.  
"Excuse me?" Romy was stunned.  
"Ellie and her guards are waiting for you in the throne room."  
"What...?" Sam blinked irritated, one hand already on the sword.  
"Are you sure?", Romy asked dismayed. Isaac nodded silently.  
"What do we do now?" Sam wanted to know and Romy shook her head.  
"Jocelyn's on her way too, we have to-" She broke off as a tiny spark of blue light buzzed by. When she touched the spark, Jocelyn's voice whispered:  
_"Don't come into the throne room. Take the portal on the middle north tower and get Alice, she lives in the southeast of the Red Swamp, where the Bone Hills run out. I can stall Ellie, but hurry."_  
Romy made a choking sound and Sam's frown deepened.  
"Your aunt Alice? What can she do now?"  
Romy turned on her heel and hurried off towards the throne room.  
"Hey!" Sam grabbed her by the arm. "That's a very silly idea, you hear?"  
"Jocelyn can't stand up to Ellie in her condition, and we all know it."  
"And you're a healer and you can't fight as well- and we all know it. Ellie probably wants to do it in one go."  
"I can't leave Jocelyn alone!"  
"We'll get help, just like Jocelyn said."  
"But it takes too long! I've never used this spell before and Alice has to... and..." Romy gasped for air and Sam dragged her in the right direction.  
"You can't fight Ellie, and Isaac and I certainly can't shred our way through the Queen's Guard if Ellie has them on her side, however she may have done this. So we do the only thing that makes sense and get help. Whatever it looks like."  
"Wise words," Isaac muttered. Romy made a pitiful sound.  
"Okay...?" Sam asked her, she nodded, and they ran.

"How long will it take you to activate the portal?" Sam wanted to know.  
"I've never used a stationary teleportation spell before," Romy replied pressed. "And I doubt Alice has one... so..." She gasped for air.  
"Make it short," Isaac said urgently.  
"Several minutes," she said after a moment's thought.  
"Okay." Sam tried to recall the north towers, but only remembered that one of the two outer towers had half collapsed. The northern part of the castle was the oldest and the most confusing.  
They were turning a corner when a magical blast suddenly threw them off course and against the wall. Sam moaned as his left shoulder caught his impact with a crunch.  
"Great Mother," Isaac groaned, blinking into the dancing shadows of Romy's witchlight. Romy swayed a little and had to hold on to Isaac, the left half of her face bruised by the rough wall.  
"Jocelyn can't stall her," she murmured, a little blurred.  
"Are you all right?" Sam wanted to know and grabbed her by the arm as she stumbled out of a standstill. She raised her eyes but looked past him; blood was seeping from her hairline onto her forehead. "Oh, Great Mother..." Sam muttered in dismay and Isaac frowned.  
"They are fighting..." Romy murmured slurred and Isaac made a harsh "psht!". In keeping with his attitude, Sam tensed up as well.  
"You hear that?"  
Sam turned his head a little, but above all he heard the humming of magic.  
"Knights," Isaac whispered. Sam couldn't tell if he really heard something or if he was imagining it, but he nodded.  
"Take Romy to the tower. I'll watch your back."  
"No!" Romy protested immediately, but Sam nodded again.  
"The time she needs, you've got."  
Now Isaac nodded and drew his sword, Sam grabbed Romy's hand and dragged her with him.  
"Isaac can't-"  
"Shh! He can. He's a knight in armor. I only have my sword." Which he wore just out of Darkmoore-habit, just like the magical necklace.  
Romy's head slowly seemed to become clearer again, because at some point she let go of him and started to work with her fingers in the air. He had never seen her work magic in this way before, but the situation was anything but ordinary. He didn't even ask what she was doing, but rather concentrated on the rest. Again and again he could hear the clang of armour from somewhere, but the sounds never came close enough for Sam to be seriously worried. What _really_ worried him were the magical waves sloshing and whipping through the air - Jocelyn and Ellie were fighting, and he doubted that they would be back with Alice in time.  
"Here," Romy said suddenly and pushed a door open.  
"But we're still-"  
"We've taken the really old corridors, Sam, and this is the official route to the portal." Behind the door there was a surprisingly clean, even if pitch-black staircase, only from much further up it seemed to get light. On his doubtful look she said: "I have no idea how to get across the old square and whether the tower has still a door at its base." Measured by what Sam had already seen of the castle himself on his exploratory expeditions, this was quite sufficient as an argument.  
So they climbed up the stairs and on the estimated third or fourth floor there were suddenly small openings in one of the walls of the square shaft. The joy of this did not last long, however, for not far below them another access door opened and the crunch of at least two armed men reached their ears.  
"Run!"  
"No, I'm not leaving you!"  
"Go and prepare the portal! There's no time!"  
Romy hesitated, then came back the two steps ahead of him and pressed a hard kiss on his mouth. As she hurried away, Sam suppressed a sigh and followed her much slower to catch his breath after the constant rush.

When he reached the next landing, two knights and a squire stormed up the steps as fast as their heavy armour allowed. Sam simply kicked the first one high in the chest and he staggered back before he fell down the stairs rattling, almost taking the squire with him. Without shield and armor Sam didn't have many options, but luckily the squire - one of the older ones, Fridolin or Frederick- held back. The knight showed a neatly trimmed beard under his helmet, which was already heavily greyed, and his movements were slow and tired from the rush through the castle, but Sam still had trouble resisting. It was one of the magical shock waves that robbed the knight of his rhythm and gave Sam an opportunity. Holding on to one of the small light openings, he kicked, strangely instinctively magically amplified, and the knight crashed down the steps like his colleague. The squire hesitated, but then jumped forward and caught Sam painfully at the hip, just above the belt. Sam, however, stabbed him, hard and directly to the chest. The rings of the chain mail seemed to explode with a bright _pling_ when the tip of the unusual and specially sharpened dragon sword hit. The steel sank through the padding, through skin and muscles and hit one of the back ribs. Even before the boy realized he was dead, Sam pulled the sword out, turned around and hurried further up the stairs.

The cut hurt and the clothes and especially the belt chafed painfully at the wound. The stairs ended a little later in a kind of hall, which looked surprisingly inviting with sofas and small tables, bookshelves and a cupboard where the glass of bottles shimmered. A door led out onto a narrow bridge which spanned across the courtyard to the central north tower.  
Romy had already reached the tower and seemed to be working, yet Sam hurried towards her, making a face- both the bridge and the tower had an uncomfortably low parapet. He shivered and caught a glimpse of a pale blue glowing pentagram at Romy's feet as it began to tingle in his neck. Putting his hand back on the sword he had sheathed, he turned around, walked backwards and searched for something that might have caused the feeling. Seen from his position the sun stood unfavorably and cast deep shadows in which all kinds of things could be hidden.  
"Almost done..." Romy muttered as she noticed him. The pale blue shimmer had been joined by a pink glow which flickered strangely as another magical wave waved through the air. Sam had already half turned to Romy when he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. Two heartbeats later, an arrow with black feathering drilled into Romy's shoulder.  
"Ah!" She cried out, staggered back due to the violent impact and stumbled against the parapet, additionally unbalanced by another powerful shock wave. Sam heard the whirring of another arrow as he rushed towards Romy.  
With an eerily stifled sound she tipped over and fell.  
Not hesitating, he jumped after her.


	32. Sam's advice: don't marry into a witch's family, it will only bring trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New acquaintances and unexpected news...

"Hurog!"  
Although it was certainly impossible, somehow everything seemed to happen at once.  
He had the feeling that his claws closed protectively around Romy even before he really felt the transformation.  
His tail twitched in the air, crashing into the brickwork.  
His wings flapped intensely to lift his massive body.  
The most violent of all magical blast waves so far blew his hair back into his face.  
He gained height and his inner compass, which as a dragon not only pointed to Romy but actually to the directions of the sky, made him turn east.

Only minutes later he realized that the last wave had probably announced the death of one of the witch sisters. It was a strange thought, but he almost hoped that Romy's death would have swept him out of the air through their connection, and that it had been Ellie or Jocelyn. Although Jocelyn's death meant that Ellie would reach for the crown...

He concentrated on flying. And on not dropping the unconscious Romy, which was strangely more difficult than he thought, because his human brain could not handle the fact that he had both arms and wings.

~

The plain of the Bone Hills ended at some point, while the Red Swamp extended to the east, north and west. He had no idea how to find Alice here, but apparently she had discovered him in return - which was admittedly not _too_ difficult - for a magical, colorful shower of sparks caught his attention. From the shade of the trees a woman stepped forward and raised her hand. In the smallest turning circle his wingspan allowed, he landed, which became the next problem: his hind legs weren't made to carry the whole weight of the dragon, his backbone wasn't made to stand upright. Hectically fluttering, he tried to carefully put Romy down before he could let himself sink to the ground. Luckily Alice saw his dilemma, as she ran towards him with fluttering skirts and pulled Romy to her. Sam transformed back, collapsed in the damp grass and had a coughing fit.  
"Sam...?"  
Gasping for breath, he looked up.  
"What happened?"  
"Ellie..." He choked and managed with difficulty not to throw up.  
"Ah... Come with me."  
Groaning, he rose to his feet and followed stumbling after Alice, who was half carrying and half levitating Romy, between the trees. Far and wide nothing looked as if a little house could hide itself here, but then he noticed a glimmer in the air and suddenly not three huge willows rose before him, but a house. Stunned, he entered after Alice and was greeted by a human growl. Alice gave a sharp command in witch language and then Sam saw the young man standing tense in a kind of kitchenette.  
"Sit down. And tell me what happened."  
Sam obediently sat down on a chair at the dining table while Alice laid Romy down on a workbench and immediately set about examining the arrow wound. In a scratchy voice Sam began to talk and interrupted himself as the young man held a cup out to him.  
"Water," he said quietly and dismissively.  
"Thank you." Sam drank before he continued.

"Ellie..." Alice sighed and brushed a curl behind her ear. Her hair might have been much more grey, but otherwise it was a black mess like Ruby's, and although her face was more rounded, the two were unmistakably sisters. "Fortunately for us, she is neither subtle nor particularly clever. Brute force alone will not necessarily get you very far."  
"What do you mean?" Sam wanted to know carefully. The strange disagreement with the dragon form had incredibly torn at his nerves and his strength. Alice smiled weakly and applied a bandage to Romy, while she said softly:  
"She used poison, her own blood, but not very effective."  
"I thought witches were only poisonous to men," Sam noticed irritated and Alice laughed softly.  
"Oh, we are. But properly prepared, our blood is a powerful poison- even to our sisters. Erik only survived because she was a child then and because this kind of poison is not compatible with metal weapons. I assume that the arrow was shot by a man?"  
"Probably even by Henry himself, he's an excellent archer." Sam nodded and shrugged at the same time.  
"This reduces the effect as well. And besides, it's damn hard to kill a healer, especially with poison. Romy will wake up tomorrow at the latest, and in a few days she should be able to work magic again." Alice seemed so confident that it made Sam smile.  
"Until then, we'll have time to think about how to proceed."  
His smile faded.  
"A battle witch on the throne is the last thing Darkmoore needs right now. Not to mention the fact that she has no claim on it as long as Romy lives anyway." Alice pulled a face. "But we'll talk about that later." She nodded at the young man. He had been in the background all the time assisting her, but now he stepped up to Romy and Sam gritted his teeth.  
"He's just gonna put her over there in bed," Alice said immediately to reassure him. But it was extremely disconcerting to see him look almost reverently at Romy before he gently, almost tenderly, picked her up and carried her into the next room. He seemed quite enraptured when he returned, and Alice gave him another brief instruction before he left the house. When the door closed, Sam relaxed again. The guy looked incredibly young, and since Sam remembered the family tree, where only a daughter had stood under Alice's name, it must have been a knight - which seemed rather strange because of the age difference.  
"Would you like something to eat?" Alice asked so suddenly that Sam winced.  
"Yes, I would."  
She was tampering in the kitchen corner and the silence spreading was oppressive. It wasn't even lunchtime, but so much had already happened that left him confused...

But a bowl of soup and a cup of hot tea later Sam felt better, at least physically.  
"Thank you." He smiled at Alice, who nodded seriously.  
"The family must stick together and not kill each other." His face must have said more than he cared to, because she raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, it's your family now, too."  
"I am aware of that," he replied slowly.  
"Good."  
Then another thought occurred to him. "Why did you leave the castle? You are the older sister." She tilted her head and pursed her lips for a moment.  
"For two reasons. I'm more witch than princess, just like Romy, and it was meant to be."  
"And that means...?" Discomfort crept up his spine.  
"Like my sister, my mother was a seer. When Ruby performed her ritual, our mother saw her sit on the throne surrounded by five golden sparks."  
"Her five daughters?"  
"Probably. It was one of the reasons why Romy wasn't sent to me, although she would've been better off here - at least from my point of view."  
"You think Ruby saw any of this?"  
"Possibly. I have to ask Romy what Ruby said to her last, it could be a clue. Unfortunately, Ruby hasn't been herself lately."  
"Why? I mean, Romy said that Lyandra's death really hit her hard..." At the sight of Alice's face, Sam broke off.  
"Yes, but that's not all." She stood up and began to bumble around conspicuously senselessly. "She sacrificed the man she loved for her daughter," Sam ducked his head in discomfort, "and I think she saw some kind of shadow hanging in the future. She probably kept a lot more than that from me, but questioning the dead is pointless." Abruptly she turned to him. "You should lie down for a while." Something about Alice was disturbingly confusing, but Sam hurriedly nodded and got up with tired legs to go into the next room.  
There were only two narrow beds there, but Romy lay on her side to relax her shoulder, and so Sam snuggled up against her back. She smelled of the herbs from the bandage and vanilla; the absence of the spice aroma worried him even more, almost to the point of subliminal nervousness. It was silly, he knew that himself, so he closed his eyes and concentrated on Romy's heartbeat.

~

Sam woke up when Romy straightened up moaning and grabbed her shoulder. Almost immediately, Alice and the young man came running, the latter kneeling in front of the bed and holding a cup to her. Romy blinked at the scene in bewilderment for a moment, then she frowned as she looked at her counterpart more closely.  
His dark blond hair was quite short, but looked as if it would curl if it were longer. The grey-blue eyes were like ponds in winter, but something in his face was strange. Sam couldn't figure it out, but Romy seemed to notice it too, as she hesitantly reached out her hand and gently touched him on the left jaw joint. Strangely enough, he mirrored the gesture and at the same moment Sam remembered the little birthmark sitting there in the shape of the rune _ru_, Romy whispered:  
"Ruben...?"  
The young man nodded silently and Sam opened his mouth in amazement.  
"Why?" Romy's voice trembled when she turned to Alice. "Why have we been separated?"  
This was probably not the reaction Ruben had expected, for he almost pulled a hurt face. Alice sighed sympathetically.  
"I don't know, child. Your mother called me when you were just one year old and told me to take him with me, he could not stay. She forbid any contact." Sam, who remembered Romy's collapse on the night of the dead, saw the bitter line around her mouth. She had mourned all these years for someone who lived only a few riding hours away from her.  
"I wish she had sent Ellie away."  
"I think that's what we're all wishing for right now," Alice quietly returned.  
"I wanted to visit you, but I was never allowed to," Ruben explained in a strange childish tone. "Aunt Alice said the castle was dangerous for me." Sam didn't dare to ask if Ruben was right in the head, but Romy's bitterness gave way to dismay.  
"Oh, no... no..." She touched Ruben's cheeks and then pulled him towards her, forgetting her injured shoulder completely. He returned the embrace gently as if she could break.  
"It's all right," he said awkwardly, glancing at Alice for help.  
"He survived," Alice said softly, stroking both twins over the head, while Sam had no idea what was going on.  
"But at what cost?" Romy asked.  
"He survived," Alice repeated emphatically.  
"What did he survive?" Sam wanted to know, and to his surprise, it was Ruben who replied:  
"I am a witcher. A broken one."  
"A... um... okay...?"  
"I wasn't strong enough and I broke." He gave Sam a simple-faced smile over Romy's shoulder. "But I'm still alive." Now it was Sam who looked to Alice for help.  
"The hardest thing for a young witcher is to balance his own masculinity with the feminine magic. Ruben has failed and has paid the price for his failure." She probably meant his intelligence, Sam thought with a shudder. "Romy, you really should get some rest," Alice then said admonishingly and Romy nodded weakly.  
"I know..."

But the rest of the day Romy and Ruben talked quietly while Sam sat around a little useless and Alice went on with her witchcraft.  
Ruby had had six children, all magically gifted, including her son. What were the real chances that Romy could give Whitehill a non-magical heir?  
"Well, what question is on your mind?" Alice's almost amused question tore Sam from his thoughts.  
"Is it normal that all children of a witch are magical themselves?" he slowly asked and Alice shook her head.  
"No. But the Blackwoods are of the old blood. Your union could yield some very interesting results." That was pretty much the opposite of what he had wanted to hear, but apparently she was aware of it, because she was smiling. "I can teach Romy how to influence unborn children. Being a healer should make it easier for her." She took bowls from a shelf and then added over her shoulder: "But first you would have to get her pregnant."  
With burning cheeks he looked at Romy who nodded in agreement with what Ruben told her.  
"Dinner!" Alice called, and Sam got up to take the first full bowl.

~

"But I don't want to be queen!" Romy exclaimed almost tearfully.   
"You have no other choice," Alice said coolly. "I won't be settling on the throne at my age, and I haven't spoken to Charlotte for years, I think she has left Darkmoore."   
"Who will be queen next is completely secondary," Sam threw in and twirled his breakfast spoon between his fingers. "The fact is, it shouldn't be Ellie."   
"Battle witches always cause trouble, Romy, and Ellie has proved that wonderfully since her magic awakened," Alice said in agreement as Romy made a face.   
"I don't want to kill my sister."   
"Nobody said _you_ had to do it," Sam said softly.   
"But-"   
"Think of the country, Romy, think of the people." Alice's voice was now insistent. "A witch is bound to the land. What do you think a battle witch will do to the land, even unconsciously?"   
"And what she will do to the other kingdoms after," Sam murmured gloomily.   
"Ellie's not so dumb as to start a war!" Romy didn't sound quite convinced herself and Sam sighed, but before he could say anything, Alice spoke again:   
"Do you really know? Were you really aware of what it means to be a healer before you finished the ritual? Ellie has always had her cruel tendencies, you know that, and now she's grown up and has a knight at her side who encourages her in her actions. Sooner or later she'll poison the country in her own way and even if she doesn't declare war herself, she'll provoke it with her attitude."   
Pale, Romy lowered her eyes to her trembling fingers. Sam was not very comfortable with the subject, but this was more than a family drama and more than a national issue.   
"I really hate to say this," he said softly, "but either we sort this out witch-style, here and now, or we go back to Whitehill and-"   
"No!" Romy glared at him.   
"No? What, no?" He glared back. "Do you want to let Ellie live and watch as she slowly poisons your home from within and then the Eastern Kingdoms? Owlgrove is a wonderful target, after all it used to be partially part of Darkmoore and Threehills is too busy with its aggressions towards Rockvalley to care about its separatist neighbour. Or Silvershore- I mean, you can only wish for an access to the sea. Maybe even Whitehill itself, to get to you, who knows?" He shrugged while Romy's lower lip trembled. "Father is still willing to avenge Franz which puts Sunplains behind us. I don't know how much military authority Gavin has as Crown Prince, but if he learns the truth about Owen, he'll probably bring the wrath of the north with him."   
"When your father wanted to declare war on Darkmoore, you were against it," Romy said in a trembling voice. "You said yourself, witches are an incredible force."   
"That's right," Sam replied, nodding slightly. "But if we take the time to prepare ourselves, even our wizards and sorceresses are able to do more than just light a candle and study."   
"Why," Romy wanted to know, and tears gleamed in her eyes, "why are you suddenly so obsessed with war?"   
"I'm not obsessed with war!" he corrected her sharper than intended, and she winced. "But I am not willing to tolerate Ellie as a neighbor and wait for her to strike out in any direction. I was raised to be a king and to make unpleasant decisions. And if you can't bring yourself to put your little sister in place, then I will. To protect the rest of the family. Your brother. My sister and her unborn child. Our future." He could have said more, but he interrupted himself when Romy stood up so violently that her chair tipped over and stormed out.   
Finally, it was Ruben, who had been listening in silence the whole time, who followed her.

~

Alice had retired to the small chamber where she was sleeping during the visit, and Ruben had also gone to bed. Romy sat outside the house again and Sam plucked up his courage and went to her. She had ignored him the rest of the day, but now she looked up and pointed to the bench next to her. Silently he sat down and waited.   
"I don't want to be queen," she finally said quietly.   
"Then search for your cousin. Or let the sages choose a suitable new queen from among the ladies. But please, open your eyes. Ellie as queen would only bring misery sooner or later."   
"Hmm," she made indefinite. She hadn't conjured up any witch's light, and in the faint light which fell through the window from the single candle Sam had left on the table, deep shadows danced over her figure. "Did you really mean what you said about protecting your family?"   
"_Our_ family," he corrected her gently.   
Again she was silent, then she put one hand on his leg and looked at him. For a moment she seemed to want to say something, but then she just kissed him. But she let go of her shyness quickly, causing Sam to feel uneasy. She tasted wrong - only herbal tea and sweetish vanilla - and the lack of her magic made him more nervous than aroused by such close physical contact. Not to mention that he didn't like the option of being out here in the damp-cold garden, nor the narrow bed inside, while Ruben was snoring within three meters of it. As Ruby nibbled on his earlobe, he shivered, while it now began to tingle in his crotch.   
"Do you taste as good as your mouth everywhere?" she whispered and he blinked irritatedly into the darkness until he understood because her hand slid down over his belly.   
"No," he said, partly in answer to her question, partly in rejection.   
"How do you- Owen." She leaned back with a deep sigh and rubbed her face before she almost snorted bitterly. "You may not get a mistress in bed, but a male lover."   
"No." Sam shook his head. "I won't."   
"Why should I believe you?"   
"Because the way I was raised, as a prince and a knight, forbids it. And quite apart from that, I respect you too much, not only as my wife, but as a person."   
She didn't look like she believed him. "You respect me, but you don't love me."   
All he could give her was a helpless gesture.   
"Well," she murmured and stood up, "I do." She walked away into the darkness until her shadows merged with the rest of the surroundings.

~

"Would you like to talk about it?" Alice asked, and Sam looked up from the dough he was kneading for her.   
"About what?" he asked back, carefully.   
"About you and Romy, of course." A knowing smile played around her lips. "I have eyes, little knight, and Romy is as readable as a book without her magic shields."   
Sam sighed. Romy and Ruben had left for the swamps a while ago, armed with baskets, and Alice was not expecting them back for quite a while. "I don't know what to say," he finally muttered.   
"May I ask questions?"   
"Sure..." he replied reluctantly and his cheeks became warm.   
"Would you like to sleep with her?" On his irritated glance she added: "Fully voluntarily, I mean, regardless of the fact that you are married. In that sense, is she an attractive woman for you?"   
"...yes," he finally said slowly. She was pretty, and he remembered darkly the somewhat unchivalrous thoughts on their first encounter.   
"You didn't do it because you were angry, right?"   
He nodded.   
"But you tried it later, didn't you?"   
What Romy had told her aunt? He nodded again.   
"What was the problem?"   
He raised an eyebrow. "Ruby's death knocked her out," he said dryly. For a moment Alice looked at him confused, then laughed softly.   
"That's not what I meant..."   
Sam sighed and thoughtfully turned back to the dough. "Her touch is uncomfortable. Not generally, but... especially below the waist."   
"Did she ever hurt you there?"   
"If you don't count forced circumcision, no."   
"Hmm." Alice made. "Is the very idea of it unpleasant?"   
"Yes," he murmured softly.   
"And the other way round?"   
This was indeed a very interesting idea. Basically, he couldn't even blame Romy for wanting this experience, but everything in him resisted.   
"I see."   
He looked up and blushed deeply again with Alice's smile. But this smile quickly disappeared and she looked at him thoughtfully.   
"Is it possible that you two- or especially you - have a problem with your patriarchal or matriarchal origin?"   
Sam looked at her in amazement. "I don't see what the problem should be. My mother and my sisters are also very strong-willed women and I'd rather have that than a princess who says _yes_ to everything and just nods."   
"Hmm. So I guess it's not a question of dominance."   
"To me we are equals." He shrugged and Alice nodded thoughtfully before taking the bowl of dough from him.   
"Wash your hands and then play with the spices. In the bowl over there is already milk and honey as a base."   
"Okay..." While he washed his hands and then examined the small clay pots with the spices carefully, he continued to think. The word _dominance_ somehow pricked in the back of his head. He was almost certain that it had nothing to do with dominance because he had given Owen the lead quite happily. Sex- and everything that went with it- was a give and take and spurning a good blowjob was probably an insult to the average man, so why did the thought that Romy was doing it make him panic, when six months ago he would have given everything to see Anne down there?

The word _dominance_ still pricked. Dominance. Power. Control. Control... whoever devoted oneself gave up control. And he was unwilling to let Romy take control - was is that? He expressed the idea and Alice tilted her head.   
"Control... hmm. It's an interesting thought. You weren't her knight willingly, so she controlled you, in many ways." She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then sighed. "It sounds like a logical explanation, but it simply means you must learn to trust her."   
"I would trust her with my life," he protested immediately, but Alice raised an eyebrow.   
"But not with your lust."   
Ashamed, he lowered his eyes again to the bowl with the spice mixture and at that moment the door opened. Romy and Ruben talked in witch language, but interrupted themselves.   
"What are you doing?" Romy curiously asked and put down her basket, which was covered with a cloth.   
"Baking," Sam replied a little silly.   
"And I thought you wanted to be a king, not a houseman," Romy mocked affectionately.   
"I'm hardly going to challenge a witch in her home," Sam explained, a little offended. Alice visibly suppressed a laugh, while Romy took a spoon and tasted the spice mixture.   
"Too much vanilla. And cinnamon is missing. Will it be apple pie?"   
"Yes," Alice started, but Sam interrupted her.   
"That's just the right amount of vanilla." He took the spoon off Romy and tasted again. "Yes, cinnamon is missing, but something else is as well. I just don't know what."   
"Hmmm...", Romy thoughtfully sniffed at the spices. "This?" She put something under his nose.   
"Yes."   
She sprinkled a pinch of it in and he stirred before they both tasted again. "Perfect except for the too much vanilla."   
"That's not too much vanilla," he protested again, but before he could continue Alice asked:   
"How do you know when it's perfect?"   
Surprised, Sam and Romy exchanged a glance. "Um... well... that's what Romy smells like. Vanilla and winter spices," he explained slowly and sheepishly.   
"But... but you smell the same. Like apple and winter spices. And frankincense, but you can't eat that," Romy said, a little confused. With a smile, Alice took the bowl away from them and said:   
"Sit down. Ruben, if you want, you can go outside. I'll call you when the cake is ready." Sam had almost forgotten him, as quiet as he had been standing in the background. Romy and Sam sat down, both equally confused, while Alice prepared the cake and then pushed it into an oven that looked very different from what Sam knew from the castle kitchen.   
"Well, let's start with the simple part of the explanation," Alice then said and sat down at the table as well. "Every true member of the Blackwood family smells of vanilla because freshly cut blackwood-wood smells that way. Just as every true Appleberry smells like apples. It's a thing of old blood."   
Sam nodded, so far he could follow her, even if he would have considered the apple scent thing as completely insignificant due to habit.   
"The winter spices, however, represent the smell of magic."   
"But Sam has no magical talent at all," Romy interjected and Alice nodded.   
"That's not what I mean, because then it would be very strange that your magic has the exact same smell. No, I mean the connection between you two. The reason why Sam reacted so strongly or differently than expected." Alice looked at both of them carefully. "Sam is your True Knight."   
Romy sighed. "It's just a legend."   
"No, it's not. Your great-grandmother found her True Knight, too," Alice contradicted, and Sam asked cautiously:   
"What is a True Knight?"   
"A legend," Romy repeated, shaking her head, and Alice looked at her angrily.   
"According to the legend, the Great Mother sends the wind as soon as a witch is born to whisper her name to a little boy so that he can later become her knight. I know it sounds fanciful, but this special bond is real. I remember my grandmother and her knight, child, and it was special."   
"In what way is it special?" Sam asked, because Romy looked skeptical.   
"I don't know if I can put it into words, but there was a certain connection that went beyond anything I've ever experienced. And I'm not talking about love," she raised a finger emphasizing, "the man was gay as fuck and needed a tremendous amount of aphrodisiac for the ritual, and my grandmother loved another man. But the two were one."   
Romy shook her head weakly. "That's silly, Alice, really. I mean, what would Sam's strong protective instincts have to do with it?"   
"You created the most powerful dragon companion I have ever heard of. Sam holds an inner compass that's focused on you. And from what Ruby and you two have told me, I really believe you've found your True Knight."   
But Romy shook her head again. "That's bullshit."   
"Why don't you believe in it?" Sam asked, cautiously, and she grimaced. "I mean, I have no idea what that means, but... Not all answers in life are pleasing."   
"You don't understand."   
"No? Then explain it to me."   
But Romy got up and started pacing up and down the room.

"You wanted to know the last thing Mother said to me," she finally changed the subject and pulled something from her shirt. "She gave me this." A small white ball with a golden socket dangled from a chain.   
"A prophecy," Alice said promptly and somewhat surprised.   
"A... a prophecy?" Irritated, Romy looked at the little ball.   
"So you didn't listen to it?"   
"N-no."   
Alice reached out her hand and Romy gave her the necklace. Fascinated, Sam watched as Alice released the ball from its socket and white mist rose from a tiny opening. And then Ruby whispered:   
_"The golden dragon brings golden times when the True Witch rules."_ Her voice sounded slurred, as if she was drunk. She said more, something about red spotted dragon wings, but she was incredibly difficult to understand.   
_"The offspring of the King over Light and Shadow wears golden double crowns. Only the Witcher... only the Witcher wears silver."_ After a sigh the mist withdrew into the ball.   
"I have no idea what she's trying to tell us," Romy said, stunned.   
"Well, the beginning is clear," said Sam with a shrug. "In the north there is a poem about the colours of dragons and there it says that the golden dragon brings golden times. I am a golden dragon."   
"Well, if you accept what we discussed earlier, you are the True Witch," Alice added, and Romy rolled her eyes. "Ruby must have suspected something. And she knew about you."   
"But that's not possible. Impossible that she saw Sam as a dragon."   
"She was a seer, child. She kept you in the castle, though I told her repeatedly you'd be better off with a witch in nature." Alice sighed, "I don't know who the king of light and shadow is supposed to be, but my interpretation is that as queen you could lead Darkmoore into a new era of prosperity. With Sam at your side."   
Romy had got up again and ruffled her braid in nervous gestures. Now she took a deep and shaky breath, but said nothing and left the house instead.   
"Why is she running away?" Alice sounded disappointed.   
"Because she is a witch, not a princess," Sam said simply, giving Alice a tired smile.   
"You can't run away from your responsibilities or fate."   
"No? I guess she could. And if it's her way to be happy, I'll help her with it."


	33. Surprises surprise you because you don’t expect them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation...

Romy stood at the edge of the Bone Hills, the sunlight shimmering in her hair. Sam had stopped a few steps behind her, searching for words; the last two days the tension in Alice's home had been rising steadily and sooner or later one of them would explode.  
"We have to talk," he finally said calmly.  
"We always have to talk," she murmured back bitterly and so quietly that he assumed he shouldn't have heard it- so he didn't go for it.  
"I don't want war. I know it may have sounded different, but I don't want to be the one to call to arms. Nor do I want to live in the constant fear that news of Ellie's foolishness will arrive at any moment." He paused, but she didn't respond. "I know you don't want to be anything more than a witch, but you can ask the sages for help to find a solution. We can't choose what we're born as."  
She lowered her head and wrapped her arms around herself.  
"You gotta make a decision, Romy, and no matter what it looks like, I got your back." He had said something different to Alice, but now he added: "But running away or not doing anything is not an option, not really." Still he got no reaction and so he sighed silently. "I'm talking to a wall..." Suddenly he could understand Alice's disappointment and turned away, but he had only taken three steps when Romy said, choking:  
"All I want right now is for you to understand how much you mean to me."  
Those were some pretty cranky priorities, but Sam wisely swallowed the remark.  
"You have every right to be hurt or hate me..." She lost her voice and he half turned to her.  
"I don't hate you. I care about you, I really do, and I want you to be happy." Searching for words, he licked his lips. "I know you couldn't tell me the truth, but you could have at least _tried_. Erik knew what to expect."  
Guilty she made a face and tears rolled down her cheeks - probably they were not the first.  
"Had I known..." Suddenly he could not look at her anymore and he turned away. "...then we probably could have gotten what you wish for." With his throat tied, he left her standing, but her tortured sound cut deep into his guts. He hoped he was already out of sight when he finally wiped his cheeks and scolded himself for the fact that now was certainly not the right time to get emotional.

~

"Are you ready?" Alice asked seriously.  
"Do I look like it?" Sam grumbled. Romy's plan was madness. A direct confrontation could only end badly - they were only damn four!  
"No," Alice admitted. "But Romy is."  
Sam snorted. "Romy's not ready, she's just pretending. I'd almost bet Ellie refuses to even listen to her."  
"Well, we'll see about that. But Romy made her choice."  
"This is insane..."  
"Maybe we witches all are, secretly?"  
Sam snorted again and turned to Romy and Ruben who came out of the shadow of the trees. Ruben had strapped a slender one-and-a-half-handed sword to his back and Sam was desperately hoping that the broken witcher could handle it. Romy was incredibly pale and her fingertips stroked uncomfortably over the long dagger dangling at her side. But she nodded to Sam prompting him and he sighed before he transformed.

~

Sam flew a provocative round over the castle, roaring and spitting fire, before he effectively dropped rather than landed. The guards who came running kept a respectful distance.  
"I am Romy Blackwood, the rightful heiress to the throne, and I demand to speak to my sister Elizabeth," Romy exclaimed gracefully.  
"First get off your high horse," someone shouted mockingly back and Sam rumbled softly as he recognised Henry. Romy, Ruben and Alice slipped off the dragon's back and Sam took on his human form again. For a moment he thought he saw something like recognition flaring up in Henry's face, but that could also be his imagination. Still, Sam was relieved to find out that Henry was only armed with the guards' sword and didn't look as if he was really prepared for this visit.  
"Welcome, Sister," he then continued to say mockingly, nodding to Romy who looked at him with a hint of contempt.  
"I want to talk to Ellie."  
Henry nodded and flicked, whereupon one of the guards approached. "Inform Her Majesty. I will escort them to the audience room."  
While Sam was strategically taken by surprise because he had no idea what was meant by audience room, Romy wrinkled her nose.  
"Ellie is far from queen."  
"The sages are on their way here and Ruby is buried meanwhile. So it's just a matter of formality," Henry explained condescendingly.  
"Sure...," Alice threw in dry from behind and then they walked with Henry and surrounded by guards through the castle.

"How's Owen?" Sam casually asked at some point because the silence made him nervous.  
"Hmm? Oh. Fine, I guess."  
"You guess?"  
"Well, we haven't spoken in a while, you know." Henry gave him a strange smile. "But I think he's quite comfortable in the barracks." Sam nodded, Henry nodded back and then gave a sign to one of the men who then turned off at the next intersection. Alice, walking next to Sam, tensed up noticeably but held her face expressionless and said nothing. The question about Isaac Sam laboriously swallowed. Romy had reassured him that her second knight was fine, but had expressed the somber suspicion that Ellie had drugged him again, as his body couldn't be forced to wear a ring in its current state. He didn't want to hear what Ellie had done to him, not from Henry.

The audience room had to be located near the throne room, but it was much smaller and above all lower. Still impressive, but Sam was overcome by the suspicion that Henry had instinctively wanted to prevent Sam from transforming unexpectedly - which he could have done in the throne room. Henry was a rude and uneducated guy, but he wasn't stupid, you had to give him that.  
"Sam," Alice muttered soundlessly and held him lightly by the arm, "stay in the background and let Romy talk." He barely nodded and kept an eye on Henry and Romy, who had stopped about halfway and were now waiting for Ellie.  
"Ellie wouldn't take me seriously anyway," he murmured back. Now it was time to nod for Alice.  
"There are five doors in this room, and I'll bet all of them will spill company pretty soon."  
"Including Ellie?"  
"I hope so."  
Sam tried to look around unobtrusively, but three of the five doors were hidden somewhere behind the many wall hangings.  
"Romy!"  
He winced when suddenly Ellie showed up. The black-blue dress wafted around her plump figure with far too much lace and frills, but despite the underlying ridiculousness, something dangerous was coming from her.  
"Ellie." Romy replied very reservedly to Ellie's broad smile.  
"I'd have thought you'd be snug in Whitehill, sniffing apple blossoms."  
"I have more urgent things to do."  
"Like what? I mean, it can't be that urgent if you invite aunt Alice for a chat first and collect our broken brother." Ellie raised an eyebrow as it twitched in Romy's face. Ellie must have learned about Ruben from Ruby's documents and letters and must have drawn her conclusions at the sight of them.  
"We must talk, Ellie," Romy said, not responding to the remark, "about the legal succession to the throne, among other things."  
"Oh, well, if it's just that..." Ellie giggled and made a strange gesture.  
Behind Sam, the door they had just come through opened, and out of the corner of his eye he saw two tapestries move as hidden doors opened.  
"Speak, big sister, what's on your mind?"  
"You...", Romy looked like she was in pain, "you have no right to the throne. It is mine to claim."  
"You could cede your claims." Ellie looked so arrogant, so sly and devious that Sam wanted to punch her in the face.  
"You know I can't do that," Romy replied quietly. "I couldn't even have done it before you killed Jocelyn." Ellie swayed her head thoughtfully and Sam took a deep breath so as not to interfere in an annoyed way. This chubby little witch played- he froze. Whatever Ellie said next rushed right past him as Isaac and Owen entered with other guards and knights. While Isaac looked halfway normal and his face even brightened at the sight of them, a dark aura hung over Owen. He had lowered his head and looked up strangely from below, his posture seeming unnatural. Sam's eyes twitched to Henry, who seemed tense and was watching the room. The dark-haired knight obviously felt very uncomfortable during the conversation between the two witches. Alice continued to stay in the background but had approached Ruben and moved a little to the side while Sam looked at her. At least a dozen opponents, plus Henry, Owen and Isaac- not good.  
"...don't understand it and probably never will," Ellie said with a gentle shake of her head as Sam's attention drifted back to her.  
"What do you mean?" Romy frowned.  
"Passion, Romy, _passion_. You have no idea what that is. You either avoid problems or you stubbornly work on them from all sides until they dissolve. You're only good at witchcraft because these things follow rules and don't have a mind of their own or even feelings. And what about your handsome prince, huh? You miss passion for anything in life!"  
Romy's face darkened while Sam got a very unpleasant feeling.  
"Passion... you're an unfeeling little thing, Romy... You're better off as a pretty doll queen in Whitehill than here. You don't have the fire to rule."  
"Not the fire...?" Romy echoed, and Sam felt her suppressed rage as her magic swept over him.  
"Look at you..." At Ellie's scornful words, Ruben growled softly, but Alice put a hand on his arm.  
Ellie wanted to provoke Romy, which was obvious, but then Romy interrupted Ellie's monologue apparently completely unimpressed:  
"Do you think the sages will confirm you as queen when they see you like this?"  
"Excuse me?"  
"You know the rules for an adult witch to take the throne."  
"Of course." Ellie frowned. "What are you getting at?"  
Romy raised a hand shimmering green. "I felt you with magic, little sister... you can't have children."  
Her deeply shocked reaction was so honest that Sam felt pity for two heartbeats.  
"That's not true!"  
"Are you doubting the words of a healer?" Alice intervened softly at that moment.  
"You... you want..." Ellie's face distorted and she stared at Romy with glowing eyes. "You are nothing but-" She switched to witch language, Romy blushed, and Alice hissed such a sharp response that Ellie winced. That was the last straw, though, and on instinct Sam- drawing his sword- stepped aside, saving his life when Owen's blow missed. A fine metallic buzzing sound came to his ears and Romy screamed for Ruben. Cursing suppressed, he parried the next blow, danced to the side and spotted Isaac, pale and staggering standing around.  
"Isaac!", Sam yelled over the chaos Ellie and Alice caused by throwing magic around them like children throwing snowballs. "Isaac! Isaac! Protect your witch! Whew!" At the last moment he caught Owen's blade and groaned. Without shield and armor he had no chance against Owen.  
"Owen... listen... you can fight Elli's slave ring, you can break it, you're stronger than her!"  
He got no reaction, but had to let himself be pushed back.  
"Owen... please... fuck!" He only just escaped a violent blow. "Owen!" He parried again and felt the shock vibrate up to his shoulder. "Oh... Owen! Think of Gavin! I... hey! I promised to take you to see Gavin, remember?"  
If so, nothing in Owen's face showed it.  
"No? Well, if you don't want him, I'll take him. What do you say? Deal?"  
Owen rumbled, knocked Sam's sword aside, caught him by the collar with his fist and slammed him against the wall.  
"The only man in Gavin's bed is me," Owen growled so throatily at Sam's ear, he shuddered.  
"Oh, yeah?"  
In response, Owen pressed his forehead painfully against Sams- and stumbled back three seconds later, breathing heavily. Sam collapsed halfway into himself with a throbbing skull.  
"Better?" he asked.  
"Fuck. Thanks, dude." Owen nodded and fished pieces of the broken ring out of his pants. "I never thought... Fuck. I can't kill you, Sam, I'd rather die." Sam grinned crookedly and pulled himself up. Isaac and Romy fought back to back and when he looked at his witch like this, he strangely thought of an elf from the legends: deadly and beautiful. Ellie and Alice were still wrestling with magic, with Alice diverting Ellie's attacks against the guards and knights, keeping them at bay. Ruben fought in a way that contradicted everything that had been drummed into Sam, but it was a deadly dance and cruelly beautiful.  
"Take care of Ellie, I'll handle Henry," Owen said softly, nudging Sam with his shoulder.  
"I have two unfinished business with Henry," Sam protested immediately.  
"But I can't attack Ellie, you wonder boy, so get on with it."  
Since Owen was right, Sam swallowed his anger. He didn't want to kill the men he had laughed and trained and drunk with, but given the situation, he had no choice.  
And when he saw Isaac get hit in the head by a shield and fall to the ground like a doll, his doubts evaporated. Romy was pushed into a corner, Alice began to stagger and Ruben found himself at the other end of the room, surrounded by knights.

Sam fought his way over to Romy and gave her cover.  
"Is Isaac still alive?" he wanted to know.  
"Yes." She gasped and crouched down beside her knight. "His skull is fractured," she shouted after a moment, while Sam continued to fight. "Keep them away from me!"  
"You can survive a fractured skull?"  
"Until the brain swells and is irreparably damaged, yes, absolutely." She gave off a strange sniff. "Isaac's tough."  
"Looks like it." The same moment Sam kicked the knight in front of him off balance so Owen could finish him from behind, Alice screamed and went down. Ruben roared, Romy screamed something and Ellie laughed gloating. Sam got the feeling that it was going to be a now-or-never, but there was magic crackling around Ellie's hands which would have torn him apart in seconds.  
It was an intuition which let him reach for the magic in his necklace, scooping deeper and deeper, bleeding all three stones and looking for more. Accusingly he pointed at Ellie with the tip of his sword, let the magic flow in, while he reached for Romy's magic, wallowed in it and drank from it, until he consisted only of warm, fragrant magic.  
"I'm sorry, Sam, but this isn't stopping me," he heard Ellie say. She sounded so far away and her hand was shimmering strangely in his eyes, the sword in his hand was trembling for power and then something snapped and the magic exploded out of the sword, ripped Ellie from her feet and threw her against the wall with such force it cracked.  
Sam's head was pounding. From a strangely tilted angle he saw Ruben hurrying towards Ellie and then unceremoniously thrusting the sword into her chest. Part of the tension in the air dissolved and Sam fell to the ground. His body was numb and tingling at the same time to go insane, so it took him a moment to get back on his feet. The blood rushed in his ears, he gasped but didn't hear himself. With a slightly blurred vision he turned around and blinked irritated.  
Blood ran from Isaac's nose and ears, Romy had sunk to his chest - like lovers, united in death. Swaying, he went to them and then sank to his knees. Romy was not only bleeding from her nose and ears, a fine trickle ran out of her mouth and even from her eyes had rolled tears of blood. It took him three attempts to pull her to him, but he couldn't tell if she still had a pulse or was breathing, it already took him a lot of effort not to fall over himself.  
Had he killed her? By tapping into her magic, had he crossed a line she had warned him about?  
He didn't know. After this fight, which had lasted perhaps a quarter of an hour, if at all, he was on the verge of collapse.

"Why are you crying...?" Fingertips brushed across his cheek and he blinked - actually through tears - at Romy.  
"For you," he muttered.  
"Don't..." Her hand sank limply back onto her chest and then the corners of her mouth twitched when he said:  
"I'm not ready to become a widower yet."


	34. A crown, a ring - what more could you want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In all fairy tales the end is always the same: the hero gets the girl, fame and kingdom."

Sam had been five when his grandfather died unexpectedly. Darkly he remembered Gerald's coronation ceremony, the stiff pomp and celebrations, the serious words and happy music.

He found none of this in Darkmoore.

Nothing in the throne room seemed cheerful, most of the people present wore black - many witches even wore a black veil in front of their faces - and had small white flowers in their hair. Sam stood out in green and gold like a colorful dog, but since he was standing at the foot of the throne pedestal, the general attention was certain. He glanced quickly at Ruben, who stood not far from him at the edge of the crowd. The young man took a breath as if he wanted to say something, but then the audience began to hum, not quite in unison and in an almost disturbing melody which crept under Sam's skin and gave him goose bumps. A witch began to sing in a bright voice and Sam shuddered violently. She didn't sing in the witch's language, but it was still hard to concentrate on the words, because Sam wanted to run away with the singing, which didn't quite fit the melody.   
The song was about the despair and fear that comes with death, the desire to escape it, to enjoy life even longer.   
"Spare me another year!"   
Sam rolled his shoulders as a second witch began to sing, even more insistently, even more desperately, even more frightened.   
"Oh please spare me another day!"   
There was hardly time to catch his breath before a third witch raised her voice.   
"Now I lie here dead and cold, my soul has been greedily sold."   
Sam shuddered violently again as the song spoke of a crown falling from dead curls, of rings slipping from stiff fingers. The song spoke of the burden of power, of responsibility and duty, the weight on the shoulders.   
"My daughter, my child, that's the passage of time..."   
Sam swallowed hard.   
"...because who holds the power is haunted the most. Fear not, one day you shall die too." With long _oh-oh-oh'_s the song ended, which- as Sam now understood - was a kind of mourning for the deceased queen. Then the big double door opened and he blinked at the black misshapen ghost until it started to move. It was Romy, almost completely hidden under a long black veil, only the hem of her black and purple dress was visible. In icy silence she stepped forward to the pedestal and knelt down, less than two meters away from Sam. Now he saw that she had modestly folded her hands and was now lowering her head. Out of nowhere, two of the sages suddenly appeared and carefully pulled back the veil. Romy's hair was braided into a crown around her head and her cheeks were as white as chalk.

Romy knelt there for a while, maybe she prayed, he didn't know, but nothing else happened until finally the sages approached her one by one and handed her something. Several rings, a necklace, a belt, a heavy black cloak shimmering purple, a twig of blackwood, and finally they gently pressed the golden tiara on her head. She rose and turned to face the waiting crowd, avoiding Sam's gaze.   
"The country has a queen," she proclaimed stiffly.   
"Kneel!"   
Sam flinched at Owen's sudden exclamation.   
"Kneel before your queen."   
_She is my wife, but is she my queen?_   
"Sam!", Romy hissed through her teeth in keeping with his thoughts, and with a suppressed sigh he bent a knee. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her climb the pedestal and turn back towards the court, which rose rustling seconds later.

Nobody had warned him, because in the last days he had hardly seen Romy. It was an honor to have Owen in the ceremony, but what honor was it to unknowingly risk a faux pas? He looked up at Romy who, with a curt gesture, told him to step up to the pedestal. No sooner had he made the few steps than one of the sages stepped forward and grinned maliciously.   
"The stubborn Prince of Whitehill... still so reluctant to bend the knee." She leaned forward and in an almost sensual gesture put her hand on his chest: "Maybe you'll change your mind tonight when the Queen lifts her skirts, who knows?" She stroked his cheek and fractions of a second before his pants slipped to the floor he remembered the assessment Erik had had to undergo. Sam felt his cheeks burning as the sages inspected him and made a small cut. When the last one stopped in front of him, a dozy little woman with white hair down to her knee, she croaked:   
"Pretty." Her voice was much too loud. "But I've seen bigger." If Sam's face hadn't been burning already, it would have gone up in flames by now at the latest. So it didn't help that he was magically dressed again, because you could hear clearly laboriously suppressed giggling. Romy nodded to him and because he didn't know what else could be expected from him, he slowly went up to her.   
"Kneel," she breathed soundlessly and a little discontentedly he knelt down on the penultimate step and obediently lowered his head and gaze. A moment later she pressed a kind of crown ring on his head and then held out a hand he took. He rose and she smiled barely noticeably before a movement of the wrist led him to her side.   
"The land has a queen. The queen has a companion. The land lives and grows," she explained seriously. "Darkmoore was promised a Golden Dragon and a True Witch, and here they are, here they come before you."   
Two boys rushed over, carrying something in their midst that looked like a shield - a show crest, because the thing was much too big to use. The cloth covering the shield slipped to the ground as they stopped right in front of the throne pedestal and Sam escaped a stunned _oh_.   
The crest was divided into two parts. On the left the background was light green, on the right a deep brown-green. The left half of the tree was light brown, the right half black-violet. The left treetop was full of white blossoms, the right one carried fiery red blossoms. The emblem was surrounded by a golden border, which looked like scales. It was turned towards the court and a low murmur rose. Romy's hand in Sam's began to tremble, but her voice was firm:   
"Darkmoore has a queen and Darkmoore... has a king."   
The murmur died immediately and Sam's head involuntarily jerked towards her. His surprised _"what?"_ went down as Owen yelled:   
"Kneel! Kneel for your queen and your king!"   
"You can't do this!" he hissed.   
"I can't do this alone," she hissed back as they walked down the steps in dignified slowness. "I need you."   
"But you can't-"   
"If not me, who can?"   
He sighed. Of course it was not impossible. That title was hollow for Darkmoore, but probably not for the rest of the Eastern Kingdoms. He understood her intention behind it, but he would have liked to have had a warning, especially since he actually had the feeling that Romy would reject the crown.   
King of Darkmoore. The first in history.   
He shook his head inwardly. He would have to write to Gerald to reconsider his retirement plans, because to rule Darkmoore_ and_ Whitehill ... and yes, his pretty queen would leave it to him, he would have bet his hand on it.   
When the doors were opened for them, he thought of the past months and with an amused snort he realized that Romy had taken him from the dungeon to her laboratory a year ago today.

~

_Isaac's frightened, almost disturbed stare stuck to Sam. "I'd love to know who you are... but who am I?"_

Sam turned his empty tea cup back and forth and looked at Isaac's pale face. A week ago he had awakened for the first time, completely without memories. In a panic attack he had hit his head on the bed and fainted again. Now he moved and moaned softly.   
"Hey..." Sam said softly to draw attention to himself.   
"Ugh... how many beers did I have yesterday?"   
Sam blinked irritated. "...none."   
"Shit... Wait. None? Oh, damn..." Isaac buried his face in the pillow and moaned again while Sam sat still, hoping Isaac would gather himself. "I hope you've reconsidered this crazy idea." Isaac's voice was muffled but still discontented.   
"What idea do you mean?"   
"Darkmoore, you fool of a knight."   
"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you."   
Isaac sighed deeply then turned to Sam and froze. Sam could trace the thoughts on his face as far as:   
"How long have I been gone?"   
"Before or after the skull fracture?"   
"What?" Isaac squeaked.   
"I mean, we've spent a year in Darkmoore now."   
"O Great Mother..." Uncomfortably Isaac slipped around in bed. "I feel like I've been chewed up and spit out, what happened?" But before Sam could answer Isaac frowned and pushed the blanket aside and peeked into his pants. "Damn shit! Sam, what happened? Why... why do I look like a dragon tried to bite me off?"   
"Well, you know... you were a member of the Queen's Guard and when the Queen was killed, there was-" A knock interrupted him and the door opened, Isaac hurriedly pulled up the blanket and Romy smiled crookedly.   
"You don't have to hide from me, Isaac, I know the scars better than the map of Darkmoore."   
Sam snorted.   
"I sensed you were awake. Can I look at you for a minute?"   
Surprised, Isaac nodded and turned red before Romy had even sat down at the edge of the bed.   
"How are you feeling?"   
"Lousy."   
She nodded thoughtfully, stroking her fingertips across his forehead and nodded again. "You should take care of your head for a few more weeks, but the bone has healed well."   
"How did I even do that?" he asked quietly.   
"A knight has slammed his shield into your face," Sam replied seriously. Serious enough for Isaac to understand that this did not happen during training. Romy briefly touched a cracked rib and then pulled the blanket to the side, which Isaac commented with a squeak and hastily slipped his hands in between.   
"Isaac please..." Gently Romy pushed his hands aside and then frowned. "I'm going to adjust the balm a little. If you can get up and walk again, you should..." In thoughts already elsewhere her voice was lost and she nodded. "Sam, is there anything left of that other balm?"   
He nodded at the jar on the nightstand. "Might be enough for two more days."   
"Well, I'll send you some food, okay?" she turned back to Isaac, who nodded simply. Romy walked out and Sam smiled at Isaac, who, however, looked after Romy in awe.   
"Never mess with the healer, hmm?"   
"No." Sam smiled. "Unless you're into pain."   
"Eh, not so... She's pretty."   
"She is."   
"She has soft hands."   
"She has."   
"Do you think she's a good kisser?"   
Sam sighed. "You spend a month in a coma and the first thing you do when you wake up is fall for the wrong woman again."   
"W-what? Why? What's wrong with a healer?"   
Sam stood up and put the tea cup, which he was still holding on to, on the night table. "This is Queen Romy. My wife."   
"Oh. Oh! Sam, sorry, I... _Again_?"   
Sam nodded.   
"Sorry."   
"It's not your fault. Shall I keep you company for a bit or-" The door flew open and a redhead barged in with a tray. "Owen!"   
"_Sir_ Owen, if you please! Hey Isaac, back among the living?"   
"Hi...?"   
"I got your lunch here. Mind if I stay?"   
"N-no... it's okay..."   
Sam smiled from one to the other. "Don't overwhelm Isaac right away. He doesn't know you anymore."   
"Oh." Owen paused. "Do you think we should hit him on the head again?"   
"Romy will kill you. And me along with you."   
"That would be unfavorable. All right, then." Owen let himself fall on the chair and leaned back. "Sit down, Sammy, before duty calls again." Before Sam could protest, Owen had pulled him onto his lap. Isaac got big eyes and Sam stood up.   
"Don't do anything stupid, you two. I still have to prepare for next week's meeting."   
"Work, work, work..." Owen sighed and waved to him.   
"See you later."   
"Promise?"   
"On the training ground, I promise."

~

"The statement _I'm in the garden_ was not very helpful."   
"Why?"   
"Do you even know how much _garden_ there is here?"   
"No. Does it matter?"   
"You grew up here!"   
"So what? Until recently, I didn't even know we had _five_ libraries."   
Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead while Romy put the pot with the little blackwood tree on the dining table. Earth crumbled onto the table top and onto the plate with the fresh strawberries. Undeterred, Romy took one and put it in her mouth - but the fruit was so big that she laboriously closed her mouth and a red drop of juice ran down her chin, which she simply wiped away.   
"What are you going to do with that tree?"   
"Give it to Whitehill," she declared with her mouth full. "I had already discussed the possibility with Gerald." She swallowed. "He wants to plant a Sacred Grove in the cathedral garden, open to the public."   
Sam nodded, he liked the idea.   
"You're going to take the seedling to Feather Springs and then-"   
"Me?"   
"Yeah. Who else?" She looked at him in amazement.   
"You. You are Queen of Darkmoore. The tree is an official gift from your family."   
"You are my family. You bring the tree home."   
"Oh, no, we're not even gonna start with that. I'm a big fan of _divide and conquer_, but not like this."   
"How else?"   
"That's not what this is about. The Queen of Darkmoore presents a gift to the King of Whitehill. Very nice. But then she can do it herself, otherwise the gesture will lose its effect."   
"You are the king. From king to king."   
"But it doesn't work that way, Romy, because I don't have any real power. Whether you're a prince consort or a king, a few letters don't make a difference."   
She sighed annoyed. "I still want you to hand over the tree, I can't leave the country for the next few months."   
"I won't go alone."   
She sighed again and Sam wondered how they should give Darkmoore a golden time if they were already at the first official acts only discussing.

A second and a third strawberry colored Romy's lips red.   
"If you're so intent on sending me away, I want a ring," he finally declared. This was a point he had thought about at length over the past few weeks.   
"A ring?" Romy raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure there's some spare guard rings around somewhere, but-"   
"I'm not talking about a guard ring."   
Now she raised both eyebrows.   
"I want a heart ring."   
"A..."   
"I want a heart ring and a real ceremony with priests and witnesses. I want a party and fireworks and a wedding night." While Romy's mouth stood open in amazement, he took a ring of rose gold from his trouser pocket and held it out to her. "And I want this as your control ring."   
"A heart ring... Sam, you don't know what you're saying."   
"Yes, I do."   
"A heart ring means absolute devotion."   
"I know."   
"No, you don't know. A heart ring is torture unless you're absolutely sure." She shook her head and closed his fingers around the ring. "You can have a classical wedding if you want to, but I'm not gonna put a ring on you that you don't really want. Why so formal anyway?"   
"That was a proposal, you stupid little witch." Sam sighed, and though a little disappointed, he was also relieved.   
"Oh..." Romy blushed. He put the ring on the table.   
"It's okay." He gave her a quick glance and then took a strawberry for himself. "I wanted to apologize. I've said some stupid things the past few weeks and I didn't mean to hurt you."   
"It's okay..." she repeated his words. "I got a little caught up in it, I guess." A strange smile flashed across her lips. "I didn't realize that love could hurt so much." A very similar, somehow cramped smile flickered across Sam's face.   
"Less heartache, more romance and sensuality?"   
She nodded.   
For a moment they were silent, then she asked softly:   
"Why... why did you want a heart ring in the first place?"   
Sam could feel himself blushing. "I read about it. In several books and I thought such a ring would complete this inner compass. I always know _where_ you are, but never _how_ you are." Because that was exactly what the heart ring was: a permanent channel between a witch and her knight, which went in both directions and, depending on the setting, transmitted all the feelings as an echo.   
"It would balance the bond between us," he added.   
"Is that what you want? Balance?"   
"You will always be more powerful than me, so there will never be a true balance. But for now, you have an advantage over me in terms of the bond."   
"If all you care about is balance, the ring will only torture you."   
"But in a relationship both should be equal! I don't want a pretty doll by my side and you certainly don't need a mute bodyguard."   
"You are certainly not a mute bodyguard, O thou my shining Dragon Knight."   
"And you're not a pretty doll, but a deadly beautiful elven witch..."   
"Tall and thin as an elf..." she sighed. Sam also sighed, stepping up to her and turning her face to him.   
"How else can we be equals if I have to look down to talk?" He got a pat on the chest for that.   
"Idiot!" But it was only a half-hearted statement, for the deeper meaning of what he had just said apparently dawned on her. "That was sweet..." she muttered, embarrassed. He smiled wryly and felt an urgent desire to kiss her. Under his gaze she blushed.   
Apart from the diplomatic mission, he didn't want to be separated from her for weeks and spend the nights alone. He wanted to kiss her and feel her and finally be a real couple.   
"I love you." It just slipped out of him and on her surprised look he added: "I think..." He blinked, bewildered by himself. "I guess..."   
She raised her eyebrows. "Better than nothing." And then she kissed him.   
They kissed until the taste of strawberries disappeared, then Sam picked her up.   
"Hey, put me down!"   
"In the bedroom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this story!

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who's interested: I added in chapter 3 of "History Class" of this series a Map.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [How Best To Save Your Knight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455569) by [LurKingFisher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LurKingFisher/pseuds/LurKingFisher)


End file.
